


Body and Soul

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically Peter dies but is resurrected, Character Death, Codependency, Emissary Peter Hale, Human Peter Hale, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Role Reversal, Scott is a Bad Friend, Steter Secret Santa 2017, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, but not, like in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: Do you want the bite?Yes.That night changed Stiles' whole life. Now alone, with only his father at his side, Stiles was trying his best not to drown due to his inability to function as an alpha werewolf. On top of that, there was something in the preserve that called for him, someone who would be the answer to his everything. And Stiles?He would defy even death in order to find his emissary.





	Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiranightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranightshade/gifts).



> Late Merry Christmas, Kiranightshade! I hope you like your present! It sort of got away from me *glances at the word count* but I did try my best with incorporating your wishes into it.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Do you want the bite?_

Stiles’ eyes flashed open. His heart was pounding, the pitter-patter of it throwing him off balance almost worse than the memory turned dream. He stared at the ceiling. His ceiling. He was in his bed, in his house. There was no hand holding his, no smirk watching his every move, listening to his heart, the same heart doing its best to jump out of his chest. He could hear his father move about downstairs and smell the eggs he was close to burning. Slowly, Stiles took control over his breathing, focusing on the warmth of his father, the love he felt for his only remaining parent.

When Stiles finally rose, he glanced at the mirror on his way to the bathroom. The picture in it chilled him to the bone, the same way it had for weeks. He saw the last traces of red bleed from his eyes, leaving behind only the brown his mother had once loved.

Werewolf.

Alpha.

Stiles ran a hand over his buzzcut. It was getting longer, he thought absently. He should be cutting it soon, it was losing all its fuzziness. Focusing on the mundane matters of self-grooming, he brushed his teeth and carefully ignored the phantom feel of teeth against his wrist, tearing into it, all the blood-

He spat out, flushing the white foam down the drain.

***

“Good morning, dad,” Stiles said as he plopped down to his usual seat. The breakfast plate was already placed before him. He surreptitiously looked around. The kitchen smelled wonderful despite the fact that his dad wasn’t the greatest cook. The feelings he emitted – the love he felt for Stiles – were more than enough for Stiles to want to drown in them.

“Son,” his dad greeted back. “Orange juice is in the fridge.”

“Got it.”

The breakfast was eaten in amicable silence. As it stretched with neither of them speaking up, Stiles couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting, reliving the stress of the past weeks, thinking of how everything in his life had changed. If he thought about it, everything had changed even before that, on the night that Scott had got bitten. It was strange to think the supernatural as the new reality but there it was, dancing before him and mocking his every move.

 _You wanted excitement, now you got it_ , even the air around him crowed, unfamiliar in all its familiarity.

_What are you going to do about it?_

“Did you sleep well?”

Stiles shook himself from his thoughts, again focusing on the way his father’s heart beat against his ribcage. It was almost as if Stiles felt it inside his chest as well, the way his heart slowed to match its tempo. When he lifted his eyes to meet his dad’s, he found the gaze already on him, inquisitive and worried. Stiles bobbed his head, trying for a smile, but even he knew that he couldn’t make it believable. The crinkles on his dad’s forehead only confirmed that.

“They finished the investigation on the Hale fire last night,” his dad said. Stiles felt so grateful when his dad didn’t address his little lie and only downed the rest of his coffee.

“The Argents can finally hold the funeral then.”

The funeral they had wanted to hold for weeks already.

His dad sighed, stretching on his chair. “It was a mess as you well know. Even with the necklace, it took time to close up the case with everything else popping up. They decided to open another case for the rest of the fires, confirmed to match Kate’s modus operandi, instead of stretching the Hale one.”

“Good.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Stiles shrugged. His smile fell crooked on his lips.

His dad snorted. “Well, when you know, do tell me. I’d like to know if I need to run around ragged in search of other villains the bars won’t hold.”

“You got it, pops.” Stiles saluted. His dad stared at him for a moment before he rolled his eyes.

“Right. I’ll hit the station. You sure we won’t find any other surprises in the preserve?”

“Scout’s honour. They are all dead and buried. Well, except for Kate, but that’s in a couple of days. And she was human, whatever that’s worth.”

“Goodness gracious.” His dad shook his head, exasperation deepening the winkles on his forehead. “Werewolves.”

Stiles raised his shoulders helplessly. “Werewolves,” he agreed. “Dinner tonight?”

“If everything goes smoothly. Text if I stay late?”

Stiles finger gunned him and his dad left the house, chuckling to himself. Stiles turned back to his breakfast. The eggs had turned a little mushy and cold but they were still good enough. He munched on them in silence, thoughts drifting again.

_Do you want the bite, Stiles?_

Stiles stared at his unblemished wrist. He sighed and dropped his fork on the empty plate.

The story may have started the night Scott got bitten but the one where he was the main character was only just now starting.

***

Stiles fumbled and almost fell out of his jeep when Jackson honked his horn as he passed him. Stiles gave him the finger but of course the douche had already deemed him below notice; had been since Stiles had denied him the bite a week ago. Christ, what a nightmare that would have turned into. The guy hadn’t even realised that Derek couldn’t turn him until it had been practically spelled for him. Well, not that Stiles knew that for certain, but he could make an educated guess from the way he had stayed under Jackson’s radar for two whole weeks after-

Stiles bit his lip as he thought back to _that_ night. He still felt guilty over it even if he recognised that it had been necessary. Stiles had seen it in his eyes, the thirst that hadn’t been quenched even with Kate’s death. Yet Stiles knew he probably would have gone down a similar path had he been in his shoes. Perhaps not the same bloody way but the guy had been mad. Mad with grief, with- with things Stiles couldn’t imagine.

 _Monster_ , Scott’s voice rang in Stiles’ head. He shook himself from his thoughts and stepped inside the school corridor full of his fellow students.

 _Peter_ , Stiles corrected, and he swore he could hear the mental huff of derision.

He had said yes to Peter, but he hadn’t said yes to the madness inside him. Part of him had craved for the possibilities the bite offered, a bigger part of him had not, but the thing that made him change his mind- he had thought- maybe if Peter bit him, had a willing beta- if he could have just-

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Automatically he found himself looking for Scott where he should be – or once would have been – leaning against Stiles’ locker. The space remained empty, unfortunately, as the new normal dictated. Since that night, since Allison really, Stiles had found himself alone more often than not. It wasn’t that he was friendless and alone. Madison and Clint still laughed with him in history and Sam sat next to him in biology but it still felt decidedly colder without Scott’s almost ever-present presence.

 _You should have given me the chance to kill him_ , Scott’s accusation drifted in the air, suffocating Stiles. _You should have given me the chance to become human again._

 _Do I look like human to you?_ Stiles remembered asking as his eyes glowed red and not the brown he was used to. He hadn’t seen whether they had been blue or gold before Peter’s power had filled his very being, leaving him energized and exhausted at the same time. Turning from human to werewolf to alpha werewolf in one night did that to people. Probably. Another thing he might never know for certain.

 _Maybe it would have worked on me_ , Scott had insisted but Stiles had only laughed in his face. If Stiles, who had been werewolf for a mere few hours, hadn’t turned back to a human, then why would have Scott who had been one for weeks? Why would _he_ have that mysterious quality of humanness that Stiles apparently lacked?

Stiles caught the sight of that familiar mop of hair and crooked jaw but before he could meet Scott’s eyes they were already turned away from him. Instead, the gaze fell on the huntress who had blindly followed her aunt from what Stiles had been able to gather. Unlike Scott, Allison did meet Stiles eyes, grief and anger and hatred visible in them – but whether towards him or herself, Stiles didn’t know.

The alarm rang and the crowd dispersed. Stiles entered his class and sat heavily in his chair. Joe took the seat next to him with a nod but turned back towards someone Stiles vaguely remembered from somewhere. Lacrosse maybe? Or perhaps economics? He was quickly distracted from his musings by Lydia. She walked in, head held high and appearance perfectly dolled up, but Stiles couldn’t help comparing her to a ghost. Stiles watched as she ignored everything and everyone around her and settled down on the front row, probably to spite the onlookers. She had distanced herself from everyone, even Allison, and it showed. She still sat with the popular kids but they no longer answered to her the same. _Jackson_ didn’t answer her the same but at least he still sat with her despite their recent break-up. Or was that because of Danny, who insisted on supporting her?

Stiles didn’t know. He wanted to care, to do something, but he didn’t know what. When he had tried to visit her at the hospital – and found her after her subsequent run to the hills – she had ignored his existence. Not that… that it was all that surprising. Everything had been put to perspective lately and Stiles had realised how some of his previous… actions… towards her had been less than gentlemanly. He would avoid himself too if someone had tried the same nice guy act on him. He only wished he could do something to fix that but _he didn’t know what_.

The recent events had changed something inside him so fundamentally that he more often than not didn’t recognise the face that greeted him in the mirror. The spark inside him screamed at him to- to do something, to _build_ something, a pack maybe, but-

He closed his eyes for the moment and took a deep breath, answering when the teacher called him name.

But there was something stopping him. And it was tearing him apart.

He didn’t know what that something was. The only thing he knew was that he was waiting for something, a sign maybe, or someone. Someone who would, perhaps, show him the way, help him find the ground he could stand on. He was so disconnected from everything and everyone that he sometimes thought he might just float away if the winds looked at him wrong, if the woods weren’t calling for him.

He clung to the memory of the second heartbeat in his chest, the only one who had accepted him without a stipulation and helped him through what had to have seemed insanity to him. It was the only bond he had that wasn’t completely translucent even if it was also of the colourless sort – and the only one who mattered.

Stiles made a mental note to drop by the station after school and give his father a hug.

***

Stiles ran.

The preserve around him was quiet yet so very noisy at the same time. The birds and critters and everything he might have never heard before were loud in his ears. The exercise was making him dizzy with pleasure, using up all his pent-up energy and the extra that had resulted from quitting lacrosse. He hadn’t wanted any extra attention. He was smart enough to recognise that Scott’s decision to stay on the team had been a bad, _bad_ idea, seen the consequences himself, and he had wanted no part of it. He had failed to convince Scott of his folly but he was not about to fall for the same trap himself.

Thus, he ran to expel all his restlessness, but also because the forest beckoned him, and Stiles couldn’t help answering the call.

The land whispered him guidance, the blood spilled for generations and generations turned from cold to lukewarm, and the air in his lungs felt cleaner with every breath. He was progressing, he knew that, but-

But there was still a barrier there and Stiles couldn’t figure out the key to open the secrets that tugged at his very being.

Stiles knew it had something to do with the Hale spark that resided inside him. It had to be. It had something to do with the way Derek had looked at him, eyes dark and betrayed, and ran off with a mournful howl after Peter breathed his last. Those few moments told more tales than any words could have. Stiles had stolen something fundamental from them, from the Hales of Beacon Hills. He had taken the most valuable thing they had and, for better or worse, it was his now.

And the land sensed it. It welcomed the change.

But it didn’t welcome Stiles yet, he wasn’t _complete_ , and so he ran under the moon in search of the answers he couldn’t find.

***

“The Argents are coming to town.”

Stiles spun around on his chair, surprised to see Derek standing by his window. The same Derek, who had left so abruptly. Derek, who Stiles had thought would never return. Derek.

He was back.

“They are coming for the funeral,” Stiles said. He stood up warily, but there was something there that drew him towards him. Derek’s ever-present scowl deepened. He looked like he wanted to inch away from Stiles who was closing in on him but clung to the ground with willpower Stiles admired.

“Gerard is coming with them.”

Stiles stood still a mere foot from Derek. The tug was still there but Stiles refrained from actually touching him. He wouldn’t do that, not without his actual permission.

Not when he and his dad had uncovered what Kate had done to him. There hadn’t been any evidence of the deeds – Kate had been too smart for that – but the situation had been too incriminating for it to be anything else. And Stiles, he didn’t want to add anything to that list. Not after all he and Scott had done to him.

“I’m sorry.” The words fell out of Stiles’ mouth before he could stop them. Derek actually did take a step back at that, his eyes shuttering, as if Stiles had hit him.

“I’m sorry for everything.” And then there was no stopping as the words just poured out of his soul. “I’m sorry I killed your uncle. I’m not sorry that I killed him, he had to be stopped, but I’m sorry that you lost your uncle. Because of me. I’m sorry he had to die and I’m sorry it had to happen that way. I’m sorry for everything Scott and I did. You deserved better than us desecrating your… your sister’s, your alpha’s, grave. And the accusations that you killed her- I’m just- I’m so sorry, Derek.” Stiles bit his lip until it bled to stop the word vomit that seemed to be overwhelming the man in front of him.

Derek looked lost, so scared and hurt really, and Stiles ached to offer him comfort. He barely managed not to reach over to try to soothe that pain. Not until he had permission, he told himself, digging his heels to the floor.

The silence stretched on. His computer made a weird noise while its battery died and the little light it had given drowned in the darkness.

Stiles could, even so, pick out the sheen of Derek’s eyes and the sweat on his brow.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Stiles finally said to break the uneasiness between them. “I just wanted you to know. Gerard is… she’s Allison’s grandfather, isn’t he? From his dad’s side?” And Kate’s father, Stiles wanted to add but the way Derek had stiffened told him not to.

Derek nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Stiles’.

“He shares… _her_ world view,” he said quietly. “He was the one who taught her everything.”

Stiles’ hands clenched, and it took everything in him not to break his skin with his claws.

“He won’t hurt anybody,” he swore. All the evidence his dad had found had indicated that Kate worked alone. Stiles would still believe Derek over everything that had once been swept under the carpet and left to rot. “Revenge, I suspect?”

Derek nodded again. Stiles closed his eyes, searching for the familiar beat he couldn’t hear but knew by heart. When his breathing back in control, he found bright blue eyes watching him. The tug almost pulled Stiles from his spot and he was certain his eyes had bled red.

“I can never replace what you have lost,” Stiles said plainly. He lifted his hand, palm up. Derek stared at it before meeting his eyes again. “But if you want, I could- I could offer you a safe place.”

“You don’t have a pack.”

 _You are not a Hale_ , rang in the air between them. Stiles licked his lips.

“I know,” he admitted, and his words were laced with pure honesty. “I can’t- I won’t be able to create one. Not yet. I may be an alpha but… the spark, the Hale spark, doesn’t fully agree with me yet.” It’s waiting for something, he thought, but didn’t say. “But I’m not unstable. We can keep each other safe.”

Derek’s eyes dropped to Stiles’ chest, digging into his flesh where he knew his heart was beating. Stiles tensed subtly and the gaze flicked up again.

“I can’t, I _won’t_ , give up the spark for you. You would have to kill me for it and I am _not_ willing to die for that. I’ll fight back if I have to and I might be a new werewolf but I _am_ an alpha. My dad, if not I, deserves better. But I can make the most of it and do what should have been done instead.”

Derek watched him for a few moments more, giving no sign of his thoughts, but then he nodded and bared his neck for a mere inch, a careful sign of deference. Something inside Stiles relaxed, the incomplete connection to the Hale lands rejoiced, even if the longing inside him didn’t settle. One of the translucent bonds inside him seemed to turn a bit more solid.

Derek’s eyes flashed as if he seemed to feel the connection between them, however weak. He still didn’t reach over to touch no matter how starved he might be and so Stiles wouldn’t either. This had to be enough, for now. Until Stiles found what was missing. Derek seemed to consider something before his eyes cleared back to their original colour as whatever decision was made.

“Lydia wants to see you.”

***

Stiles followed Derek through the preserve towards the Hale house. No winds were blowing and Stiles felt awkward and wrongfooted as they neared their destination. He hadn’t been actively avoiding the place – he had run past it every night the past two weeks – but he had gone where his instincts drove him and they often led him on a chase around the ruins, not to the ruins themselves.

And now Lydia wanted to meet him there? And she had sent _Derek_ to get him?

Where had the world gone to?

He smelled her before he saw her. Her scent had been subdued, covered by perfumes, when Stiles had seen her around school but somehow now it felt stronger. Familiar.

Like _his_.

Before he realised it, he had rushed inside. “Why do you smell like that?” he demanded as he stood before her. Lydia watched him carefully, lips pursed shut. She was dressed in a comfortable outdoor outfit that Stiles hadn’t known she owned; it wasn’t like he had expected her to ever traipse around the woods. He felt Derek loom somewhere behind him, standing guard against… him?

“Derek told me you killed his uncle,” Lydia stated instead of answering. Her brows were raised as if in a challenge. Stiles inhaled to calm himself and felt Lydia’s scent twist inside his nostrils. He winced and quickly took a step back. Her scent was driving him crazy. He couldn’t even focus on the memory of his dad’s heartbeat.

“Yes,” he said.

“And you became this… alpha, was it? Because of that.”

“Did Derek tell you that too?”

Lydia gave him a disdainful look. “It wasn’t like anyone else was volunteering the information.”

Stiles felt just as unimpressed as she looked. “Would you have listened?” That gave Lydia a small pause. She shrugged delicately.

“Perhaps not,” she allowed. “But you didn’t even try. He _mauled_ me and you said nothing.”

“And what would I have said during all those times you ignored me? That a werewolf came and tried to eat you? Bake you in his little werewolf oven?” Stiles asked dryly. Lydia sighed.

“Well, at least Derek had the decency to explain. After a fashion,” she said, side-eyeing the man. Derek only raised his brows, all the expression he needed to show what he thought of her words. A silence fell between them, just as uneasy as the one had been between him and Derek before. Stiles had had enough of that.

“Why did you want to meet me?” he asked, and added when Lydia gave him another of her looks, “Something within you calls for me.” Lydia looked almost alarmed. “Not you, per se, but something in your scent. I didn’t notice it before but now? It’s so strong I don’t know how I could have ever missed it.”

“I’ve been wandering to the Hale house every night after you found me in the forest,” Lydia told him. Stiles blinked in surprise. Why hadn’t he smelled her before then? Even the remnants of her perfume should have given him some sort of a hint. “Every single night, without failure. Something draws me here and it’s only because of Derek here that I even know of it. He’s been waking me up from whatever has its hold on me.”

“Why tell me this?” Stiles frowned. He crossed his arms absently. “Especially since you don’t seem to think much of me.”

Lydia’s gaze flicked to Derek, and Stiles followed her eyes. Derek shrugged and took a step closer.

“Because there’s something there, underneath her scent, that reminds me of you.”

Stiles turned back to Lydia. “Are you possessed or just sleepwalking?”

“I’d hardly know the difference,” she said dryly. “Only that it happens. The pull to the house seems stronger every night. Almost like its waiting for something.”

Waiting. Just like Stiles.

Derek was now standing next to them. He gave Stiles a pointed look and then nodded to the floor panels close to them. Stiles noticed they seemed different than the others. Not newer, perhaps, but like something had been moved there, or fixed.

“I buried my uncle there. Lydia’s found her way to that exact spot ever since. The logical conclusion is…” he confessed quietly, voice dying. Something inside Stiles squeezed him, leaving him breathless.

“Behind the grave?”

Derek levelled him a look. He nodded.

“Lydia researched it. It’s Worm Moon soon. I think- I think he might have had a failsafe hidden inside her. That was the kind of person he was, before. Prepared. That might be why she’s compelled to return here, where his body lies.” He hesitated a moment. “But there is no alpha of Hale blood.”

And that would mean-

Lydia crossed her arms, chin raising in defiance, even if the colour of her cheeks remained pale like death. “I am _not_ spending the rest of my life bound to a _corpse_ ,” she challenged but the waver in her voice betrayed her fear. Stiles could _taste_ it. He glanced at Derek who looked uncomfortable but also determined. Longing.

Stiles had killed his only living relative after all.

Stiles’ heart started beating faster. He licked his lips, and listened to how the air around him urged him to just _listen_.

“You won’t,” he answered, eyes fixed on the floorboards that hid Peter underneath. He had no urge to run anymore. “Because we’ll make sure the ritual works.”

He didn’t think he had ever been so sure about something.

Lydia and Derek shared a look Stiles couldn’t decipher before they both turned back to him. The air around them was static. They nodded in unison.

It would be done.

***

Three days.

Stiles would have to wait three days before the itch beneath his skin could be quenched. He was almost certainly sure that the reason he had been tirelessly searching almost every night was because of Peter. He couldn’t explain why – the man definitely hadn’t been sane enough or his alpha long enough for them to form any sort of death-defying bond – but there was something there.

Lydia felt like the key Stiles had been chasing after. He probably had been, at least partly. Derek confessed having wrapped Peter in wolfsbane which certainly would have numbed Stiles’ senses and Lydia’s sleepwalking would have sent him on a wild goose chase around the ruins of the Hale house. He was getting closer to the answers he was seeking, he was sure of it.

Lydia had sat next to him the day after, no longer looking like a pale imitation of herself. He was glad; it would have been difficult to pretend nothing had changed. Danny had sat next to them as well and he had dragged Jackson with him. Scott side-eyed them hard, nostrils flaring, as if trying to smell if Stiles had turned them. He scowled at him. Just because he had the power didn’t mean he would.

Scott turned back to Allison, circling her with his arms. Stiles suddenly remembered that today would be Kate’s funeral. He wondered if he should have said something, or if Scott was stupid enough to go to a hunter’s funeral with her possibly-almost-certainly homicidal relatives there.

Probably.

He shot Scott a quick text about it, just in case he hadn’t considered it. The only answer he got was a string of emoticons that clearly told him to mind his own business.

Fine then.

“So, what did you think of the econ homework?” he asked Danny. He got a dark look from Jackson but Danny just answered like they had been friends all along, as if he hadn’t deliberately ignored Stiles’ attempts at catching his attention before Lydia had deemed Stiles worth her presence. He was loyal, Stiles had to admit, throwing a quick look at Scott and Allison’s disappearing backs.

His heart felt like ice in its yearning for the same.

***

The wait had been slow but the day was finally there. Things hadn’t been easy. Stiles had almost snapped at his dad in his impatience, his heartbeat unable to fully calm him anymore. It was very worrying. The Argents seemed to be everywhere too, particularly Allison’s grandfather. He seemed to be stalking Derek like it was his last day. Scott wasn’t answering his texts either and still ignored him at school – which was probably a good thing, considering the company he kept – so he had to go ask him in person if he knew anything about it.

It turned out Scott wasn’t at the clinic, as Stiles found out from Deaton. He sighed.

“Thanks anyway, Doc.”

Deaton watched him with that infuriatingly calm gaze of his. It had always made Stiles’ skin crawl, now even more so. The guy was an alien.

“Is there anything you would like to ask of me, Mr. Stilinski?” Deaton asked him serenely. Stiles blinked, and slowly shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded, already turning away. He still needed to get a few more things for the evening and then go reassure his dad that nothing would threaten his life tonight and that he didn’t need to change his shift for Stiles.

“I’m sure. Bye, Doc.”

***

“This is the first night I’m walking here voluntarily,” Lydia said, designer heels digging into the worn floors. She crinkled her nose at the layers of dirt that seemed to find her red shoes charming. Stiles shrugged his backpack off and sneezed when the dust attacked his nose.

“And hopefully the last.” Derek walked in from what had once been the kitchen. Lydia tossed her hair and Stiles couldn’t help but admire how alive she looked now that there was freedom to look forward to. She had confessed once when they were alone, studying the ritual and making the necessary changes to it, that while Peter hadn’t seemed to have possessed her in any real capacity, she had still dreamed of him. Of the coma, the fire, and even beyond.

 _I think he almost gave up, before,_ she had said, tugging a lock of hair behind her ear _, because the spell just wasn’t triggering. The components weren’t there and I could only blindly walk to his grave. And if it didn’t trigger soon enough, there wouldn’t be enough for him to return to. But ever since he felt the lands tremble underneath your feet…_

“Let’s begin then,” Stiles said. He knelt down and dragged the floorboards away. There it was, the most insistent tug he had yet felt. Derek and Lydia had nothing to this. It would scare him if he didn’t know he was in no danger. The connection-

 _Doitdoitdoitdoit_ , the winds whispered and the land rumbled.

Stiles and Derek dug into the ground while Lydia delicately watched them work. There was a moment when she faltered and her eyes lost their sheen but it was over within a minute. There was nowhere for the spell to take her, for she was where she needed to be already. Soon enough they had unearthed Peter’s body. The decay hadn’t settled in yet and his skin was still blackened by the burns Stiles had inflicted on him. He winced at the memory. He hoped the man would forgive him for his second burning.

The moon was full.

“Blood.”

Stiles followed Lydia’s order, as did Derek. They slashed their wrists and watched as the drops hit the body below them. Lydia stepped between them, hands clasping over the wounds, smearing in their blood. Stiles glanced at her and, suddenly, it was like her green eyes had turned electric blue for just a second. She took a deep breath. She opened her mouth to chant the words the ritual demanded-

Instead, she screamed.

Her grip was too strong even for the werewolves to get out. The ground moved beneath them and Stiles felt power being transferred from his core to Lydia and to the grave before them. Derek growled low on Lydia’s other side and there was no way he wasn’t shifted. Stiles knew he hadn’t been able to keep completely human either.

Stiles felt all the power inside him coil tight before striking. His eyes bled red. The tug inside him separated something innate him and it-

_“Come to me.”_

And Peter’s eyes flashed open.

***

The blackened bits of skin fell off Peter’s face as he rose from the grave, revealing unblemished skin underneath. There was a wild look in his eyes that flashed white in response to the red glow of Stiles’ own. Peter was naked but Stiles barely noticed it. The Hale spark, it was- it was howling at him to-

To-

Peter drew in a shaky breath and fell to his knees before Stiles. Stiles just stood there, frozen, as he watched Peter. He was there. He was actually there. The sheer relief almost forced Stiles to the ground as well. Something nagged at him though. Peter looked the same, black flakes or not. Not even a hair seemed to be misplaced despite-

And then his scent hit Stiles’ nostrils and he knew.

“You’re human,” he whispered and in the silence filled merely with Peter’s quiet pants it was as if he had yelled instead. Peter peered from under his brows, a smirk curling on his lips.

“I came back as my alpha dictated,” he answered, and tried to stand. He stumbled but his voice had snapped something in Stiles and he found himself there, holding Peter up. The touch felt hot and like lightning made solid.

“How?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t understand. How could this _be_? Peter was a werewolf. The ritual had worked- hadn’t it?

“It did work.” Lydia stared at Peter, touching at her temple. “I can no longer feel his presence.”

Peter nodded. “And I am thankful for hosting me until my resurrection. Admittedly, biting you wasn’t one of my most admirable moments but needs must. I am sure you understand.”

Lydia stared at him mutely, one hand clutching at her red locks.

“You are an emissary,” Derek said. He blinked and shook his head. “You are the Hale emissary.” His voice was filled with wonder.

“What… does that mean, exactly?” Stiles asked. He was still holding Peter even after the tremors had slowly stopped and he was once again standing on his own two feet. The wolf inside him, as he had started calling his new instincts, wasn’t willing to let Peter go before- before something. Something to do with this emissary business, certainly, since it had turned Peter _human_.

What the _fuck_.

“Emissary is a werewolf pack’s tie to… humanity,” Peter said, voice laced with irony. “Often paired with skills that cannot be attained by the werewolves themselves. Namely, ability to use mountain ash, certain other substances and magic.” He turned his head and Stiles suddenly found his face mere inches from Peter’s.

“And always, _always_ , linked to the pack’s alpha.”

“But why you?” Stiles frowned in thought. “It has to do with my taking the Hale spark. It felt different since the beginning.”

Peter nodded. “You are not Hale by blood nor a natural-born wolf. Bitten werewolves rarely become alphas – for long anyway – due to their inability to understand the connection to the nature and territory the way born wolves do naturally,” he explained. And then he looked at Stiles thoughtfully. “Add to that, you were a dormant spark, a magic user yourself, something I hadn’t realised when I bit you. Perhaps as a beta you might have survived the conflict inside but as the alpha the Hale spark was suffocating your own as the land demanded more of you than you could give. You needed a Hale – a Hale _emissary_ , at that – to give you what you needed, to take your magic from you.”

“You are taking your sudden humanity a bit too well,” Derek said, eyeing Peter suspiciously. He got a sharp grin as his answer.

“I traded something of value to something else, one type of magic to other. It will be an… adjustment but I will manage. Tell me, would you have rather become the pack emissary?” Derek blanched, causing Peter to laugh aloud. There was no attempt at hiding the mocking edge. “The spark chose wisely.”

“It could have just rejected me, right? It should have,” Stiles pointed out, intrigued. “Derek was still alive and a close relative.”

“Ah, but you were my bitten beta, a Hale-bound beta, and you killed me.” Peter shrugged. “It offered the spark a choice. Either reject you, possibly by killing you, or go to Derek, a Hale by blood. Quite probably it would have gone to Derek had I not ensured my continued survival – Derek here has always held little to no interest or skill in magic and lore – or slowly drained you until you went insane and became easy pickings for him.”

“That…” Stiles tapped his foot on the ground in thought, morbidly curious. “That makes sense.”

“You are volunteering a lot of information,” Derek said bluntly. “It’s unlike you.”

“But I am in the presence of my illustrious alpha.” Peter tightened his hold on Stiles, leaning ever closer until Stiles could only look into his whitening eyes. “Oh, I do love being right. You will make a magnificent wolf.”

Stiles gaped, instincts at war against the leer. “Aren’t I already?” he barely managed to make out. Peter snorted, leaning away.

“No. Right now you’re just a mutt with promise to be so much more. With the sparks at war inside you, your potential was locked away. When we join together, the lock on it will be broken and you’ll need _me_ to hold you back until you regain that control.” He looked around in distaste. “Does anyone have any spare clothes? I no longer have the same ability to regulate my body temperature. It _is_ getting a little chilly.”

“Oh. Oh! I, uh, I have some.” Stiles scrambled away, picking up his backpack a few feet away. “They are my dad’s but I hope they’ll make do. They are not, um, the quality you seemed to favour but-”

“They’ll do, I suspect.” Unabashed with nudity, Peter walked over to inspect the offering. The pants turned out to be a good enough fit but the shirt was tight on him. Stiles couldn’t help but stare which earned him another leer. He flushed.

“Are we done then?”

Stiles startled, having forgotten Lydia was still around. She raised her brows, giving him an utterly unimpressed look.

“Do you have school tomorrow?” Peter asked. Stiles slowly shook his head.

“It’s Fri- no, I guess it’s Saturday already.”

Peter grinned, baring all his teeth. Stiles suddenly felt utterly wary.

“Good,” Peter said silkily, and pushed forward, sealing Stiles’ mouth with his own.

And the world burst into a mess of colours and sensations.

***

The land called for him. He could feel it in the howl of the winds, the memory of fires, the drops of dew and the steadiness of trees. The lands coated in the blood of those who had once coveted the spark of power that now resided in him were opening their arms to him, telling him that it was alright, that they could accept him to their ranks. Because, even as a born outsider, he would be strong.

He was not the tradition.

He was the _future_.

The Alpha opened his eyes.

He took in the world not unlike a new born. It was like the world was, for the first time, in all its vivid colours and masterfully arranged operas. There was power in breaking what had always been, skill in being brave enough to step past the old ways; never to forget but to learn from the mistakes made.

The Alpha watched the man before him. He was close enough to touch. The air around him felt part dead, part alive, as if he had been touched by the Great Beyond and escaped as the lord of himself. The Alpha prowled around him, watching the eyes burning white watch him. The magic in the man spoke to the Alpha, whispering promises of loyalty and strength in equal manner.

There was no doubt about it.

The man belonged to the Alpha.

He grinned and bared his teeth. His Emissary laughed breathily, mirroring the Alpha’s expression.

The Alpha could sense the desire in him; the desire to belong, the longing for a connection twice lost. Three times would be the end of him, the Alpha knew. He held his Emissary’s sanity in his claws.

Something shifted behind the Alpha and he turned around, snarl on his lips. The werewolf stared at him, stance carefully arranged as unthreatening as possible. The Alpha closed in on him, studying the way the other wolf tried to fight against tensing as the Alpha drew closer. His eyes flashed bright blue in response to the Alpha’s demanding red.

Blue.

A killer.

But-

The Alpha tilted his head. Remorse. Self-hatred. Guilt. Those were not what a killer felt like. No, the werewolf before him was not a threat. Loyal, yes, but only to those who deserved it. It made the Alpha _yearn_.

He smelled like potential. A potential member for a _pack_.

The Alpha turned towards the lone female in the room. She smelled like the realm beyond this world but unlike his Emissary. She, instead, felt like a citizen of the land of the dead herself; someone with a true connection to the powers beyond.

She would be powerful one day. An ally, perhaps more if the Alpha could convince her of his worth, show her what they could accomplish together.

“Stiles.”

The Alpha found his Emissary standing there, a hand reaching over to him. The Alpha waited.

_“Come to me.”_

And the Alpha did.

***

Stiles gasped, surfacing from what felt like a dream, the all too bright dream that always spoke clarity in adversity. The first rays of the morning glow crept inside the husk of a house, spreading warmth over the cold, forsaken walls.

He was not alone.

Stiles stood surrounded by people he had never thought would. The girl he had treated wrong, the man he had wrongly accused, the man he had killed. They had all the reasons to step away and leave him where he was standing, alone, lost forever.

Yet, they didn’t. They stared at him silently, waiting for him. The Hale spark curled around him, inside him, and hummed with the potential.

 _Convince us_ , the unspoken words ordered.

Stiles licked his lips.

“I don’t know if I have anything to offer you. Not really,” he said, voice hoarse but steady, brutally honest. “I got power when I just wanted to protect the people I love. Now that I have it, I don’t particularly know what I want to do with it but I do know I don’t want to go where other people have gone. I hate being blind. If you choose to stay, you’re welcome to question me if you think I’m going off the rails – and I promise to respect your opinions.”

“And how will you do that?” Peter asked. Stiles turned to him. Peter had a self-satisfied expression on his face, pure want forming an aura around him.

“I promise to listen and I promise to learn. I don’t have the choice of ignorance but that’s not what I’d want anyway. I have never known what perfection looks like, but I imagine it would be a dream anyway. Whether you find me enough, I- I cannot say. I-” Stiles shook his head, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck. “You are the ones that need to decide that.”

“The Argents are in town,” Derek said. Stiles rotated around, feeling the importance of addressing the concerns as best as he could.

“I would seek to end the threat they presented and bring justice to those who cannot rest in peace without it – but only to those who were responsible. I will not attack blindly.”

“Will you force us to stay?” Lydia crossed her arms. Her stance was pure ice. Stiles shook his head again, turning to face her.

“Never.”

And with those words, the room was suddenly plunged into the light of the day, and when Stiles howled, the colourless bonds burst into the gold rivalled only by the rays of the sun.

***

Stiles sat outside in his backyard, enjoying the calm surrounding him and the warmth that spread inside him. He had a pack. The Hale spark – _his_ spark – was once again at peace and connected to the land it belonged to. Even with the threat still present in their town, it didn’t feel like something he – _they_ – couldn’t overcome.

“Everything alright then, kiddo?”

Stiles smiled as his dad sat down next to him. He inclined his head, the new, more instinctual part of him wanting to curl around his sire. He didn’t see why he would have to deny himself and found the strength of his dad’s grip comforting.

“Can you feel it?”

“At least now I don’t need a nanny cam to know you’re fine,” his dad said dryly. Stiles threw his head back, laughing, and enjoyed the knowledge that his dad was always on his side.

“I could say the same! If you ever get kidnapped, then I should know,” he teased. His dad shook his head.

“Where on earth do you think we live in? LA?”

“In a town infested with werewolves?”

His dad considered his words and conceded the point. “Any other news I should know?”

“Welllllll-” His dad threw him an unimpressed look and Stiles grinned, “We do have a pack now. Lydia and two Hales.”

“ _Two_ Hales?” His dad’s eyebrows did something complicated.

“We sort of resurrected Peter Hale,” Stiles admitted.

“ _Stiles_!”

“I know but he’s not all bad!” He nudged at his dad’s shoulder. Someone just entered their house, he noted absently, but his instincts didn’t flare so- “He’s going to make certain I’m not going to end up in a dump anywhere.”

“A strange thing to hear about a person you yourself put six feet under,” his dad grumbled. Stiles might have once withered under the words but the bond between them didn’t resonate with anything but a soft reprimand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you we were going to the Hale house-”

“To _discuss_ Peter Hale, not _resurrect him_!”

“I feel the love, I really do,” someone said behind them. Stiles rolled his eyes even as his dad’s hand had gone to his empty belt. When they both turned to face the intruder, Peter just offered them a mocking salute.

“Really, Peter?”

Peter shrugged, swaggering closer until he could sit on Stiles’ other side. “Did you sense me coming?” he asked. Stiles quirked his brows before inclining his head. Peter sighed.

“And here I thought I had cracked the spell.”

“Werewolves can use magic now?” Stiles’ dad asked, exasperated, as if to ask there was magic now as well to consider as a variable.

“No,” Peter answered with his infuriating smile. “But I am no longer a werewolf, thus I need to protect myself to protect my alpha. Isn’t that right, Stiles?”

Stiles shivered at the caress in his name, feeling his cheeks flush. The look his dad gave him was enough for the blush to die.

“So, like, I got my alpha power by killing him, yeah? Except there were a few complications-”

“Severe ones too,” Peter interjected. Stiles threw him a dirty look and the bastard just smiled peacefully.

“-And it wasn’t all that easy to absorb or connect to the Hale lands. Peter provided help with that.”

“Doesn’t explain why he’s human,” his dad said after Stiles finished, his look telling him they would have a talk later. Stiles was _so_ looking forward to that one.

“It does actually,” Peter said. “Werewolves can’t use magic outside our shapeshifting abilities. It interferes with our natural inclinations. But it was easier to, ah, _transform_ my magic into something more useful for my alpha. In any case, it was either that or Stiles’ inevitable doom.”

Stiles’ father looked horrified.

“Don’t worry, everything went fine.” Stiles could hear the smirk on Peter’s voice.

“Will you miss being a werewolf?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask. It had plagued him since it had come up, the possibility of Peter, well, regretting the chance. Peter shrugged.

“Almost certainly. But I like being alive more. And this way I can dig deeper into my studies. Besides-” His eyes suddenly dug deep into Stiles’, leaving him feel like Peter was reaching into his very soul. “-I gained more than I lost.”

His dad coughed from beside them.

“Does that mean you want your status as a missing person to be revoked?” Stiles’ dad asked, the wrinkles on his forehead judging. Peter grinned toothily while Stiles was trying to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat.

“Please.”

***

“How could you do this, Stiles?!” Scott asked him after he cornered Stiles near the lacrosse field. It was lunch and the cafeteria had been packed and apparently even Scott had decided that it would be a bad thing to have a confrontation there. Stiles paused momentarily.

When had he started thinking this badly of Scott?

The werewolf part of him – the part that sometimes felt almost like a second being inside him, with separate personality and more instinctual approach to things – seemed to huff derisively. Stiles winced. Yeah, a stupid question, he knew. But he had Scott had weathered the death of Stiles’ mom and Scott’s parents’ divorce. What did it say about them if _this_ was the thing that broke them?

“Do what?” he asked, leaning against the bleachers. He wanted to know what he was accused of before he answered. He wouldn’t divulge pack business to outsiders. And, as it had become clear, Scott wasn’t pack. When Stiles’ bonds had snapped into place, there had been no such a thing to link him to Scott.

_What did it say about them?_

“I saw Peter Hale, _alive_ ,” Scott hissed. Stiles tilted his head.

“And?”

“And? _And_?! He destroyed my _life_ , Stiles!”

“The way I see it, the bite cured your asthma, got you the girl and made you a lacrosse god in Finstock’s eyes,” Stiles said dryly. “Not exactly a hardship.”

“Allison’s parents hate me!”

“True. Might also be because of how you stalked her window. _On their roof._ But none of that answer one thing, Scott.” Stiles leaned closer. “Why would Peter Hale breathing have anything to do with _me_?”

Scott scowled, his brows furrowing deep. He would get wrinkles before he turned twenty if he didn’t kill that habit, Stiles mused.

“But- he bit you- who else-?”

“He bit you too, dude. I didn’t even know where he was buried.” Stiles shrugged and pushed up from his spot. Scott took a step back, almost as if preparing for- Stiles snorted.

“I’m not going to attack you, you idiot. I’m just going to go back to Lydia. I find myself craving for a discussion you clearly aren’t providing.”

“And that’s another thing!” Scott said, forcing Stiles to stop on his tracks by moving in front of him. “Lydia! What are you doing with her?”

“Being her friend?” Stiles asked.

“ _Allison_ is her friend!”

“She hasn’t exactly been around her, now has she?” Well, that wasn’t exactly fair. Lydia had avoided Allison quite skilfully after the attack. There was something she found haunting in her, Stiles had noticed. He wondered if it had anything to do with the things Lydia had seen in Peter’s memories.

Scott scowled harder. “That’s not fair.”

Stiles glanced at him but didn’t deem it important to answer. If Allison wanted to make those accusations, fine. It was her business, not Scott’s.

“I’ll see you around, Scott,” Stiles said, and pushed forward, leaving his former best friend behind. It didn’t matter what things said about them, he thought as he neared where Lydia stood holding court with Jackson and Danny at her side. She turned to him and offered him a sharp, calculating smile as a greeting, the barest tilt of her head acknowledging the power difference between them.

It didn’t matter because Scott wasn’t pack.

And pack always trumped over friends who couldn’t stand with friends. Always.

***

Stiles paced in his living room which had quickly become the pack’s go-to meeting spot. Lydia was gracefully sipping her tea – some rich blend she had brought to the house herself, not willing to lower to the ordinary stuff Stiles had half-forgotten they even owned – with Peter sitting opposite her, relaxed despite his alert eyes. Derek, on the other hand, was sitting on the floor with blood all over his shoulder, wounds slowly healing from where Stiles had just dug out two bullets. Taking that also into count, it was no wonder why Peter had steadily grown warier lately.

“This will not stand,” Stiles hissed behind his gritted teeth. This was the third time the Argents had targeted Derek when the rest hadn’t been around. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because of revenge against Derek as a person or revenge against the alpha which they might think he was. Either way, they had _no right_.

“Have you been able to identify any of your attackers?” Stiles asked Derek who was now cleaning the blood off himself. The wound had finally closed and Stiles found himself shuddering at the remind of how warm Derek’s flesh had been around his fingers.

“They were some of the people Gerard arrived with,” Derek said. He was acting a little nonplussed with how Stiles was actually concerned over his wellbeing. Stiles scowled at the reminder why that might be. He had been serious with his apology, damn it. “Not Gerard himself, however.”

“He is probably playing pretend with his family,” Peter interjected. He tapped the laptop on his lap absentmindedly. “While Victoria is the official head of the family, she is also a loyal disciple of Gerard’s doctrine. Chris has been more sceptical, particularly as of late thanks to Kate, so Gerard might be there to keep up the appearances. And to corrupt Allison, I suspect.”

Lydia stiffened in her seat but remained silent.

“What is with the Argent structure anyway?” Stiles asked. “Chris and Kate were Argents by blood, yeah? Then why is Victoria the head and not Gerard?”

“The Argents are a matriarchal clan,” Peter explained. He leaned back in his seat. “No one is sure of the details but for some reason Kate didn’t become the matriarch after her mother’s death. Victoria did, despite her marrying to the family. From what I have found, I suspect foul play on Gerard’s part that led to Kate’s disfavour within the hunter community, but I can’t be sure. Victoria is probably holding on to the title until Allison is of age and her training was finished.”

“But Allison didn’t know about werewolves up until a month or so ago.”

“Which is why no one but the family itself knows what is going on with them.”

Stiles offered Derek a clean shirt from his dad’s closet. Derek nodded him his thanks, tugging it on.

“Do we know if Mrs. and Mr. Argent are in league with Gerard? Or Allison, for that matter?” Stiles asked. He turned to Lydia. “You were the one closest to her. Do you think Allison would do that?”

Lydia stared at her tea pensively.

“I’d like to say no,” she said finally. Then her eyes sharpened and she turned that steely gaze on Stiles. “No, she wouldn’t. She has her own code of honour. Especially since she hasn’t grown in the business.”

“Even with her mother and grandfather influencing her? Because of her inexperience?” Peter asked silkily. Lydia turned her glare on him.

“Even so,” she said. “But if someone were to hurt any of them without reason-”

“So she’s a loose cannon.”

Lydia’s glare turned heavier.

“She probably would be easily influenced.” Stiles spread his hands and shrugged when Lydia switched to him to glare into submission. It might have worked once. Now though… “She might not ask for proof if one of them claimed they were wronged by us. Or if she did and we only had word against word…”

Lydia took sip from her tea and banged the empty cup against the table. She nodded sharply but didn’t leave. Stiles counted that as a win.

“We are not going after her parents,” she demanded then. Stiles blinked.

“Of course we are not,” he said. Peter scoffed but remained otherwise silent. “We have no proof of their participation in the recent attacks or the Hale fire. We are only going for those who are guilty.”

 _As promised_ , he tilted his head at Derek. The man offered him a nod in turn. Stiles suspected he was just so sick of all the bloodshed.

“Good,” Lydia said.

“How do you suggest we weed out the… _guilty_ ones from the rest?” Peter drawled. He was drawing some elaborate outline with his finger, tracing the unknown over his laptop. Stiles closed his eyes, ignoring his senses tying him to the world, and let his mind do what it did best.

Make the leaps.

He grinned, revealing all his teeth, and his pack – despite their perhaps lingering misgivings – automatically leaned in to hear his words.

“By mutiny.”

***

“You are my sanity.”

Stiles froze from where he was leaning over their plans for the Argents. He had wondered what Peter had wanted when he had stayed and others hadn’t. Lydia had left a while ago to do what she did best – to socialise. She was infiltrating the Argents through Allison, to confirm which of the hunters were their enemies and which respected the code. She was, as she had made clear, also trying to win her friend back. Stiles could still see her hesitation but she was getting better with handling whatever knowledge Peter had unknowingly or not leaked into her mind. Lydia didn’t seem to resent Peter, even if she still side-eyed him from time to time.

Although, to be fair, she side-eyed Stiles as well. The only one she seemed to accept as he was, was Derek, who in turn had left scout on what the Argents were doing to their territory. Alone, unfortunately, but with the order to keep his phone with him and a blessing – a spell, really – from Peter to guide his way.

Stiles had stayed behind, waiting for his dad to arrive so he could go over his plans with him. They heavily leaned on the law enforcement and making certain that the Argents knew to tread lightly from there on. Any missteps the ones they spared made, however, would be reprimanded and paid by blood.

But Peter had stayed as well, despite his research for stronger wards against threats – apparently a real thing and not just something Stiles had conjured while on a midnight research binge. And now Stiles knew why.

He straightened from where he was standing and turned around to face Peter. He was wearing an expression Stiles could only describe as hungry.

“That so?” he asked, and Peter chuckled. He moved closer, like the predator he no longer was. Although, Stiles thought as Peter neared him, that Peter would be dangerous no matter what form he took.

“That so.” Peter’s eyes were hypnotic on his. “You called me from beyond the grave. You thought me worthy. You needed _me_. And I? I like to be needed. I like being thought the world of. And that it was you who wanted me? Well, how could I say no?”

There wasn’t enough space between them but Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to move away. The closeness between them was addicting.

“You are my world, Stiles,” Peter said silkily. Stiles shivered. “And I keep good care of those who are mine.”

“Who said I am yours?” Stiles asked, breath catching in his throat. Peter’s chuckles reverberated in the air.

“Every action you made,” Peter whispered. “When your mind didn’t know of it, your body recognised it. I own a part of you that you cannot give up, Stiles.” Stiles swallowed hard as Peter’s hand reached him and slid a finger down his cheek, light as a feather.

“Your mind is your own, but your body is forever changed. And that body? It needs _me_. But at the same time, your hold on me-”

Peter tilted his head. He was too close, too far, and he inhaled Stiles’ quickening breaths.

“You are mine,” he whispered, caressing Stiles’ cheek. It was not Stiles eyes that were red but his face. The touch dug into his chin for barely a second before letting go as Peter retreated. Stiles opened his eyes to see his dad standing there, foreboding expression on his face.

Peter just smiled languidly as he greeted him with a mocking, “Sheriff,” and slipped past him and out the door, his retrieved laptop in hand.

And when Stiles’ dad turned his eyes on him, all Stiles could feel was the ownership Peter had on his body-

And the possession Stiles had on Peter’s soul.

“I don’t like this Stiles,” his dad confessed. In that moment, he looked older than his years. “You are gallivanting around the town and in more danger than a teenager should. Any teenager.”

“Dad-”

“I can’t protect you anymore.” The pain and knowledge of how he had been replaced in his voice pierced Stiles’ heart. Stiles moved without conscious thought and then they were hugging. His dad’s arms around him were tight and they unconsciously wandered, making sure Stiles was in one piece the way he should.

“You are enough,” he murmured against his dad’s shoulder. The arms around him tensed before relaxing again. Stiles listened to the beat of his dad’s heart, feeling the thrum of it inside him as well.

“Who is Hale to you?”

Stiles didn’t even try to misunderstand the question. His dad deserved more than that.

“He is my connection to the Hale line, to the alpha spark tied to my body,” Stiles confessed quietly. “The same way I have an unbreakable grip on his soul. He can’t betray me just as he will never give me up. This is us, dad. It’s probably not healthy but… this is it, for me.”

He had seen the ownership in Peter’s eyes, felt the possession the wolf inside him revelled in. They, Peter and him, were still merely circling each other, testing the waters, but Stiles knew there were other things at work than just who they were as people – and he knew that, in the end, he would go willingly. Peter was a match for him intellectually and if the way his body answered to him was of any indication-

“Oh, Stiles,” his dad just said. He drew back to look Stiles in the eyes, brushing his hair. “As long as you are alive and happy.”

“Even if- if I do something you don’t agree with?”

“When do I ever agree with what you are doing?” his dad asked sardonically. Stiles choked on his giggle.

“We are doing the Argents in,” Stiles told his dad. His dad narrowed his eyes, a calculating look appearing in them.

“What do you need?” his dad just asked. Stiles’ eyes filled at the trust his dad had for him and he closed them, leaning against the bulwark between him and the world.

That night Stiles lay in his bed and stared at the phone next to him. When the clock hit past midnight, Stiles groaned and sent the text plaguing his mind. He determinedly turned his back to his cell, ignoring any and all signs that would tell he got an answer, and finally fell asleep.

_> Find a way to keep yourself safe._

_< Yes, my alpha._

***

The unravelling of the Argents started slowly but by the time they realised something was happening, it was far too late to disrupt the fall. It started innocently when Stiles’ dad used his Sheriff privileges and arrested one of the men identified as Gerard’s for speeding. What he found in the trunk, such a large number of guns – some licenced, some illegal – and bear traps, were enough to bring him in with charges of illegal hunting. With the ensuing fallout, he implicated a couple more of Gerard’s men. This, in turn, caused others to retreat from them while others fought to reverse the charges.

With the implication of Gerard being responsible for all the chaos, the civil war was ready.

And Stiles and his pack watched the house of cards burn.

***

A few days after the fallout and a huge fight between Victoria and Chris, Allison returned to school with dark bags under her eyes and Lydia on her arm. Lydia had kept her promise and protected her friend with vengeance but even she couldn’t shield her from the knowledge of how insane her immediate family members could be. Yet with Stiles and the pack making certain no innocents were caught in the crossfire, Lydia had thawed towards them – towards Stiles, really – and even voluntarily appeared when Stiles had invited them all to his house for no real reason.

He sat watching Lydia tending to Allison in her very Lydia-like way, waiting for Jackson and Danny to join him on their table. That boggled Stiles, honestly, that there was actually a table to call theirs. The two friends hadn’t completely abandoned the popular crowd – they were the heart of it, really – but more often than not they spent their lunch hour with Lydia and, with her, Stiles. Stiles had expected that to change now that Lydia was again buzzing around Allison but, strangely, it hadn’t.

And so, he was waiting for his company to arrive. It wasn’t a bad thing, exactly, just strange.

“You caused this.”

Stiles lifted his head to meet Scott’s furious glare. His eyes were glowing a beta yellow, already a dangerous sight in a full cafeteria, but there was a distinct sickly shade to them that made Stiles’ stomach turn queasy.

“Caused what?” he asked.

Scott gritted his teeth, decidedly sharper than they should be.

“Allison broke up with me.”

And instantly, Stiles was alert. Scott’s anchor had broken up with him and, judging by the change in Scott, it was serious.

“Scott-”

“No, Stiles. _You_ listen to _me_ for once.” And then Stiles found himself crowded against his seat. “I’ve seen you. You and Peter. And Derek and Lydia. _You_ are the reason Allison’s family fell apart and why she broke up with me-”

“Scott-!”

“You destroyed my life, Stiles!” Scott yelled and the tables closest to them looked over in curiosity. “ _For the third time_!”

Stiles felt blood drain from his face at the implication. He tried to focus on his anchor that was already shifting from his dad to- to- but with the blood rushing in his ears, he couldn’t hear it. Scott kept yelling at him but he couldn’t hear him-

Scott blamed him for being bitten.

Scott blamed him-

Scott-

And then a hand pulled him from the ocean he was drowning in and he gasped as if he hadn’t breathed in days. Even though he couldn’t sense him, even if he wasn’t there physically, Peter had just- he had stopped Stiles from before he could spiral into what seemed to have been a starting panic attack. Peter had grounded him when he couldn’t do it himself.

 _Mine_ , the whisper reached his ears, and Stiles felt the bond he had to his- his _emissary_ curl around his veins and insides tighter and _tighter_ until Stiles no longer could float away if he wanted to. And he didn’t.

“-and then-”

“Scott.”

Scott fell silent instantly and Stiles could see him fight to not tilt his throat for him. It felt like the whole cafeteria was staring at them and perhaps they were, perhaps they weren’t. Stiles didn’t care. He slowly stood up, shift held back. The desire to flash his eyes was tied down with the control Peter had given him. It didn’t feel like how his dad anchored him with the love of a parent; no, it was the utter possession over his entire being.

And Stiles felt freer than ever before by giving up the reigns and then the lands whispered to him and Stiles _understood_.

This was what it meant to be alpha.

He glanced at where Lydia was staring at him, Allison at her side but focus on him, and flashed her a grin. She instantly relaxed but frowned as if wondering why exactly she had done that. He could feel how tense Derek was and sent reassurance to his beta – his first beta. And his emissary-

He was there with him, every step of the way.

This was how it was meant to be.

Stiles turned his attention back to Scott who was staring at him like he didn’t know him. Perhaps he didn’t, not anymore. Yet Stiles couldn’t help wondering if he knew Scott anymore either.

If they even had ever truly known one another anyway.

“Scott,” Stiles repeated. He lifted his hand and Scott flinched from him. He flashed his sickly yellow eyes at Stiles and rushed away blindly. The whole cafeteria watched him stumble his way towards the entrance. Allison made a move to follow him but then she hesitated and suddenly Scott was nowhere to be seen anymore.

And Stiles watched him go.

And the land sung.

“Stiles?”

Stiles turned to look at Jackson and Danny who stood nearby, former with an attentive aura while the latter looked confused yet intrigued. He smiled at them.

“Lunch?”

***

When Stiles arrived home that evening, Lydia following behind him with a puzzled echo on the other side of their bond, the house wasn’t empty. As they stepped in, Derek was already there, waiting for them instead of his dad who was busy keeping nearly a dozen Argents behind the bars. Derek said nothing as they arrived but he did catch Stiles’ eyes and bowed his head. Gerard had lost his most zealous followers and that was more than they could have hoped for, leaving him nearly powerless. When Gerard would be dead like his daughter – and he would be, Stiles didn’t have any doubts over how things would end for him – the Hales would be avenged and Derek could start healing as well. The bond between him and Stiles flared with gratitude and Stiles couldn’t help but smile. He felt warm all over.

He was doing the best for his pack, and they were responding.

Lydia walked past him and flopped gracefully next to Derek. She started describing him some mathematical theorem she had read during the class, bored as she had been, and he picked up on it. Stiles listened, fascinated, as they delved into the depths of maths.

He was distracted from that when someone breathed into his neck, something sharp digging into his side. He went into a state of alert and moved quickly, pinning the offending person to the wall next to him. The person went with a heavy ‘oof’ and a smirk.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Peter.

“What was that for?” he asked, leaning away from him. Peter brushed his shoulders from the imaginary dust as the self-satisfied smirk only widened as the white in his eyes faded away again, the blade of his dagger shining in the artificial light.

“You ordered me to learn to defend myself. I did,” Peter answered easily. He flexed his arms, hiding the blade inside his sleeve, and stretching them over his head. Stiles followed the movement for a moment before he registered what he was doing.

He had to admit, Peter _was_ fit, and those arms-

“Well?” Stiles asked when Peter wasn’t elaborating. He went over what Peter had done and- “You learned to mask your presence? Mess with my senses?”

“Yes,” Peter said almost cheerfully. Stiles cocked his head.

“I did have a vested interest in magic before the fire,” Peter explained. “My sister didn’t think anyone would dare to oppose a pack of our standing. I wanted to know the means if someone _did_.”

Stiles nodded in approval.

“Good.” He reached out and gripped Peter on his shoulder, nearby his neck, and Peter’s eyes shuttered in pleasure. Stiles realised this was the first time he had voluntarily touched him without any sort of prompt. The half-lidded eyes staring at him were filled with hunger.

“What are we going to do about the rest of the Argents?” Lydia asked sharply and Stiles’ focus snapped back into reality. He stepped back but not without his touch lingering on Peter’s skin.

A trick question.

“Nothing unless they move against us,” he answered, turning his back to Peter – trusting him with it, despite his move earlier. The hissing intake Stiles heard made him grin slightly. “Except for Gerard. His days are numbered.”

Lydia nodded once, satisfied expression thawing her icy exterior. Stiles snorted. Well, he had asked for as much the night they resurrected Peter. If there was one person who would be a good sounding board for what was the smart thing to do, it was Lydia. He glanced at Derek, feeling Peter still at his back. With Derek’s compassion and Peter’s streak of cruelty…

He had a strong pack.

“I want to learn more about being a banshee,” Lydia announced.

“That’s what you are?” Stiles asked. He had shared his impression of her being connected to death and with her scream-

It did fit.

“I have a few books that could help you in the Hale vault,” Peter said. Stiles itched to ask for more because, honestly, a vault now? “None go quite in-depth but they should be giving an idea of what you could do.”

“Thank you,” she said cordially. Stiles could feel the satisfaction pouring from behind his back. He finally made a move to sit down.

“How’s Allison hanging?”

“On a thread,” Lydia said. “But she is leaning towards her father in all this.”

“That’s good. She might be interested in an alliance in time, then.”

Peter sat next to him on the couch. “No pack then?”

“I don’t think she would be comfortable,” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe if Scott had been in one. We were never close and I doubt she would follow even Lydia blindly into anything, especially since she has to suspect our part in her family’s downfall.”

“I’m not manipulating her,” Lydia snapped.

“No one’s asking you, Lyds.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“We might need to expand,” Derek said quietly. “With a bigger pack, we would be in less of a danger. Not too much to be considered a threat though.”

Stiles glanced at Peter who nodded. “Family-based packs are often regarded as peaceful. But packs such as ours…”

“Right,” Stiles sighed. He dragged his hand through his hair. It had grown enough to tickle his ears. “If you have any suggestions, lay them on the table.”

“Danny, Jackson,” Lydia said immediately.

Peter and Derek looked pensive.

“We don’t have any suggestions yet,” Peter admitted with a significant look. Stiles wanted to slap himself.

“Right, of course. My bad,” he mumbled. At which time would they have had to even think of such a thing? “Well, think about it. We’ll talk of it later. While you’re at it, take a look at Danny and Jackson too.”

If they decided to give another chance at Jackson, then Stiles might have to re-evaluate his opinion as well. He probably should anyway.

“And keep safe,” he told them. “Gerard is still at large. If he makes any sudden moves, I want to hear about it. Especially you, Derek. Be careful.”

Derek inclined his head. Stiles leaned against Peter for a second before he stood up.

“My dad’s coming home for dinner. Should I make enough for five?”

The dinner wasn’t as awkward as he had expected. Rather, it was quite pleasant, with Lydia engaging Stiles’ dad into a conversation, Derek pitching in his few cents and Peter casually sitting inside Stiles’ personal bubble.

And when Stiles’ dad caught his eyes, he smiled in genuine happiness.

***

Stiles ran.

The woods were peaceful and calm, most if not all hunter traps having been removed. The moon was full and shining down on them. The land under them was greeting them with every step, the dead welcoming the new blood under their care.

Derek ran right after him. Lydia had elected to stay home as Allison had had another row with her mother. Peter-

Peter was somehow gliding with them in the shadows, his eyes glowing white in response to Stiles’ red and Derek’s blue. He smelled more of the beyond than he had since his resurrection.

Stiles picked up the pace.

There was a lot of ground to cover but he knew they were up for the challenge.

***

“We have a problem.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair. Derek had just returned from his patrol. They hadn’t expanded their pack yet, so he was mostly doing it alone, with Peter sometimes tagging along as his shadow.

It had been two weeks of waiting silence. Too good to be true, as suspected. Scott avoiding them, glaring at them darkly. Allison getting on her feet little by little. Gerard nowhere to be found, having left the Argent residence.

Things were bound to change. With Derek’s words, he doubted they would be changing in their favour.

“What is it?”

Derek scowled darkly. “The Alpha Pack is here.”

Stiles frowned as well. “What’s that? A pack of alphas? Sounds dangerous.” And unstable, he thought privately.

“Essentially. They… carved a greeting at the… house,” Derek bit out. Stiles tensed. They were challenging them, desecrating the graves of the fallen.

“Do you think they know who we are?”

“They know me at least,” Derek said. His scowled eased into thoughtful expression. “Might expect me to be the alpha as well with the scent of Peter’s blood still so strong where he died and his body lingered.”

Stiles closed his eyes. He reached for his and Peter’s bond, and then used it to connect to the Hale lands. He wondered briefly if this was unique to them. Of what he had read about the alpha-emissary bonds, they usually didn’t connect so… deeply. Personally. Wholly.

Theirs was a mutual ownership instead of an acquaintanceship he had read so much.

Then he was plunged to the ground, feeling the heavy steps of five newcomers who had to be alphas. Two felt almost identical – siblings maybe? – but the rest didn’t distinguish themselves as much. He reached further. There. There was a slight disruption there. Lighter steps, someone who had tried to influence the trees but been rejected. And then-

“There’s five of them and their emissary,” he said aloud and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to get used to the low lighting again. Derek was watching him keenly. “And they may have a prisoner.” His eyes widened as he finally recognised the sensation.

“It might be a Hale.”

***

“They can only be hiding either here,” Stiles’ dad pointed at the map. “Or here or here. They are abandoned but it wouldn’t look too weird if someone went in or out. Heaven knows what the teenagers like to do. Other places are either in the preserve, which you said they wouldn’t be welcome at.” Stiles nodded, and his dad added, “Or they are secured by the county.”

Stiles frowned at the map thoughtfully. Peter opened his eyes from where he was lying on the couch, blinking as if he was waking from a dream.

“It’s the bank,” he said, voice sleep-rough. “It’s the only place I couldn’t get through.”

“Their emissary,” Stiles stated. Peter nodded.

“There has to be a reason they’d choose that exact location,” Lydia murmured. She traced the location on the map. “It can’t be the neighbourhood despite its relative abandoned state. Too many nosy kids and imminent accidents, no matter how good defences. They are expecting visitors. Namely, you. Werewolves.”

“Hecatolite,” Derek said. Stiles perked up.

“Is that something I should know?”

“We can forgive it this time,” Peter said. Derek snorted even as Peter elaborated, “Hecatolite, or moonstone as it is more commonly known, is about the only material that can contain a werewolf and be used to build.”

“Why would anyone build a vault out of it?” Stiles’ dad asked. He tapped the map twice before straightening his back. It cracked ominously, and Stiles sent his dad a worried look. Stiles’ dad rolled his eyes. “I am not made of glass, Stiles.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You implied,” his dad said. “For that, I’m getting a donut on my way to work. It shall be my price for getting a copy of the blueprints for you.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Lydia said, all prim and proper, at the same time Stiles exclaimed, “ _Dad_!”

“The Sheriff is out!” his dad yelled and escaped from Stiles’ clutches. He glowered darkly.

“It’s kale for you during next dinner, mister,” he promised. Peter rolled his shoulders in tune with his eyes. Why was it that they were all targeting Stiles today?

“While we are waiting for the prints, we could discuss future additions to the pack,” Peter suggested. Stiles sighed, tugging out a chair for himself and flopping on it.

“Can’t do much before that,” he agreed. Running in blindly was suicide, especially against five alphas and an emissary they knew nothing about. “Suggestions?”

“Danny and Jackson,” Lydia said instantly. Stiles nodded, miming making a memo.

“Vernon Boyd the third.”

“Isaac Lahey.”

Stiles mulled the last two names, suggested by Peter and Derek, respectively. Vernon was someone he didn’t remember but Lahey might have been on the lacrosse team…

“Why?” he said simply. Lydia launched into the good qualities of both of her friends to which Stiles nodded absently. They were his friends now as well but he still wasn’t certain either would benefit from the bite. Danny he suspected wouldn’t want the bite anyway but Jackson had wanted it, probably still did, even if he hadn’t asked Stiles again since his initial rejection. Stiles just wasn’t sure if Jackson would take to it.

When Lydia stopped to take a breather, Derek interjected. It was done so smoothly that Stiles was impressed.

“I suspect Lahey is abused.”

Even Lydia wouldn’t say a thing after that.

“I’ve seen… bruises. Fear. Reluctance to go home even from his job.”

“Where does he work?” Stiles asked. Derek gave him a look.

“In a graveyard.”

Well. That said a lot. Stiles nodded, making a note on his mental list. He turned to Peter.

“And Vernon?”

“He prefers Boyd,” Peter said. “A loner but seems to crave company. Not much of a talker but seems like a good man.”

“Where can we find him?”

Peter raised his brows. “He’s in your year.”

Lydia and Stiles exchanged a curious look. Neither seemed to be able to recall the guy. A new low for both of them, he supposed.

“We’ll need to check them out,” he said. “Make our own decisions.”

He didn’t bother suggesting anyone. His first instinct would have been to give Scott the bite to cure his asthma but they all had seen how that had turned out. He had other friends or perhaps acquaintances but no one he’d particularly think was a good fit for their pack.

“But we’ve had time to give a thought to Danny and Jackson. Derek? Peter?” Stiles asked.

“They are a package deal,” Derek said. Peter inclined his head to agree.

“Danny’s skill with computers would be… indispensable. Jackson, though…” Peter mused. Stiles waited. He wasn’t the only one to have doubts then.

“He has self-esteem problems,” Lydia said straight-forwardly, fingers twisting in her hair. “But being in a pack would be… good for him.”

“You could give them a trial run,” Derek said. Stiles blinked. That’s- “Lydia knows. Jackson already knows. Danny doesn’t. It would endear him to you if you told him and endear you to Jackson to give him a chance.”

Stiles hadn’t known Derek could be so clinically distant.

Peter nodded, a small smile curling on his lips. Derek ducked his head. “You don’t have to bite them the very instant,” Derek said. “But see how they’d act with the whole pack…”

“That’s… I’d like to do that. I’ve been thinking it sucks that Danny’s the only one not in the know. It sometimes shines through that he’s missing out and he knows it.” Stiles stretched, popping his shoulders. He looked at his pack.

“Everyone agree for a trial run?”

Murmurs and nods of assent. Stiles nodded, turning to Lydia.

“Then… tomorrow maybe? After school? There shouldn’t be any lacrosse practice tomorrow, right?”

“You’d know if you’d stayed on the team,” she huffed, but grinned a little. It transformed her entire face.

“Tomorrow then.”

Stiles’ phone beeped. It was his dad.

“So, how about ‘em trip to the bank tonight?”

The hopeful and bloodthirsty looks he gained were more than enough of an answer.

***

Stiles and Derek waited at relatively safe distance as Peter travelled through the shadows. His body shuddered as Peter returned to it, the white glow of them fading away.

“I couldn’t go in to the vaults where I think the prisoner might be held,” he said. “The only alphas I could see were Ennis and a woman. There were no one else to my knowledge.”

“You recognised one of them?” Stiles asked even as Derek paled. He frowned. An enemy of the Hales…?

“Ennis is a brute of a man who ended up killing Derek’s first love,” Peter said, and then admitted, “who I mistakenly invited to our territory.”

The grief that Derek briefly emitted before it was hidden inside again made Stiles’ insides turn uncomfortably, and his inner wolf whined. Stiles gripped Derek’s hand and Derek shuddered but didn’t pull away. Stiles turned to Peter who looked remorseful enough for Stiles to know he wasn’t faking it.

“You can hash it out later,” he said. “Right now, we are going to focus on the possible Hale survivor inside.”

Peter and Derek both straightened.

“We are waiting for Lydia’s sign then,” Stiles said, and tapped his phone.

> _Ready_

A car burst through the street and someone threw a boxful of what looked like Molotov cocktails at the bank, mixed with mistletoe that Peter had carefully added in after Lydia’s experiments. The front of the building started smoking something awful that Stiles wanted to carve his nose off his head. The car – which Stiles now recognised as Jackson’s Porsche – speeded off. They had barely made hundred yards before a woman burst out of the doors and after them.

“Go!” Stiles hissed, and ran forward, Derek and Peter right on his heels.

“That’s some sign,” Peter commented idly. No one had anything to say to that.

They had the plans memorised and, combined with their supernatural senses, they found where the prisoner – Hale, Hale, one more Hale – was kept. Although not before meeting with the brute of a man called Ennis.

Stiles made the split-second decision.

“Get them!” he ordered as he fell back, covering their backs. Derek rushed forward with single-mindedness of someone who had once lost everything he had but Peter hesitated for a moment. He gave Stiles one hard look and-

“Remember who you belong to,” he said softly before running after Derek. Stiles shook his head and focused on the threat in front of him.

Damn, he probably should have trained fighting some more. Asked tips from the experts. Shit. Tried more at the self-defence classes his dad tried to put him and Scott in before they realised Scott’s asthma got in the way. Fuck. Tried more at lacrosse?

Ennis closed in.

Hands-on learning it was.

If he survived this, Stiles thought before letting his instincts take over, he would ask Peter and Derek for tips.

***

“Cora? Cora!”

Peter paused at the door at Derek’s yell. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out if the person inside was who Derek claimed she was. Not for the first time he cursed the loss of his senses. How human functioned with everything so… dull, Peter didn’t know, even if he would need to learn with it. There were no spells to gain what he had lost – only ones to perhaps level the field.

The girl inside did look, however, like his niece. He would have to trust Derek on this one.

Before he could go in further, Derek bounced from what looked like mountain ash. His eyes widened as he pounded on the barrier.

“You won’t be able to go in,” a woman’s voice said, and a dark-haired woman stepped from where she had been hiding. _The emissary_ , Peter thought as he narrowed his eyes. “You’d need a human to break the line. And it’s not safe.”

“Safe?” Peter asked. He prowled closer, mimicking how he would act if was still a wolf.

“She’s nearly feral. The moonstone made sure of that.”

Peter forced himself to act calmly whereas Derek looked ready to murder. He had thought Derek had been a bit too dispassionate lately, especially with how ready he had been to kill Peter earlier. Or maybe not ready, but determined to stop him.

Like he was now determined to save his sister.

“And whose brilliant idea was that?” he asked, crossing his arms, as he leisurely took a step forward. He didn’t even have to hide his amusement. “You should have known we would be coming.”

“Perhaps,” the woman conceded. “But not as quickly. Deucalion was not ready.”

Now that was a name Peter hadn’t expected to hear ever again.

“But why?” he asked. He was nearly there. “What do you have to gain from that?”

The woman just smiled behind her mountain ash line. Peter just shrugged.

“Not that that’s important,” he said. The woman tilted her head.

“I can help you,” she said. “And you can help me.”

“With what?” Peter asked. The woman smiled, as if thinking she was getting the upper hand. And then Peter was there, next to the madness Derek was emitting. He smiled. “Get her, Derek.”

And broke the mountain ash line.

The woman’s eyes widened as Derek rushed at Cora-

And Peter, wishing for a taste of her blood, rushed at her.

***

Dodge, dodge, down, swipe, retreat, do it again.

In terms of pure physical power, Ennis got Stiles beat. There was no doubt about that. But what strength-nutters always forgot was that even power could be beat with wits and enough agility. And that’s how Stiles was built. He was lean-muscle instead of the hulking monstrosity in front of him.

So he dodged the bullets and aimed for Ennis’ blind spots, buying time for his pack. If he got lucky, good. If not…

Well, he was the alpha. He had to stay alive for his pack.

“I would-” dodge “-have thought-” swipe “-that Hale was alpha-” retreat “-instead of a stick like you!” Ennis growled between his attacks. Stiles ran against him and used Ennis’ rush to push himself over him and clawing the back of Ennis’ neck. “Fuck!”

“Too bad,” Stiles panted lightly. “I’d hate to be wrong as well. Never been, heard it’s unfortunate.”

Ennis glowered at him. Stiles smirked, shrugging. “I’d be mad as well.”

“Shut up and fight like a real wolf!” Ennis yelled.

“Who defines that?” Stiles asked, eyes wide.

“You bitten _bitch_!” Ennis roared as he attacked. Stiles lost his balance and he fell, which turned out to be a good thing as he rolled away from Ennis.

There was no way he could have evaded _that_ attack.

He narrowed his eyes and kicked with his feet. Ennis fell down and Stiles made a move to attack him but Ennis wasn’t staying down. Stiles scrambled away, prowling around him. He needed something to gain the upper hand.

But what?

“I am going to first kill you and _then your whole pack_ from _beta_ to _emissary_!”

There was no stutter in his heartbeat.

Stiles saw something glitter from the corner of his eyes. There, amidst all the glass shards, was a single bottle Lydia hadn’t managed to break as she had thrown them. He dived for it. The moment he had it in his grip, he felt the worst pain in his whole life spread across his back.

He gasped as blood flowed from his wounds. Despite every little wound he had gained since his turning, this one wasn’t closing. He vaguely remembered hearing about alphas’ claws not healing instantly but it was hard to think through the pain.

“Yes, you- fuck, you _fucker_ -!”

Stiles managed to twist his legs around Ennis’ arms, forcing him to the ground. He smashed the bottle on Ennis’ face even as he scrambled away, trying not to inhale any of the cocktail.

The screams of pain almost did Stiles in.

He watched Ennis claw at his neck, trying to breathe, but with every breath he took in more mistletoe. Ennis gasped, face turning blue as he couldn’t inhale anything but poison-

Stiles heard his heart stutter, finally, and then stop.

And then he stared at the body and didn’t move until his pack found him.

***

Peter smirked as the woman took an involuntary step back. He flew past the mountain ash line. She threw something at it. He dodged but even as he did, it shattered, and he heard Derek and Cora scream in pain. Peter growled, reminiscence from his life as a wolf, wishing to attack the bitch fleeing in front of him, but knowing that if he did, he would lose the second chance he had gained from Derek. They still had plenty of things to hash between them – namely Paige and Laura and the years of coma spent alone – but Peter was willing to believe they would manage.

They both had a degree of loyalty to their new alpha, and pack, after all.

With a yell of utter frustration, Peter turned back and dragged his howling niece and nephew away from whatever poison the enemy emissary had thrown at them.

Cora was nearly mindless but with Derek dragging her, she managed to remain lucid enough not to attack those that she may remember from the past if not personally, then in scent. Peter ran with them, ready to throw mountain ash at any attacking shadow.

They found Stiles on his knees next to a corpse. Something in Peter’s chest clenched at the sight of Stiles’ unreadable eyes – no longer red but that special kind brown Peter had grown fond of – that wouldn’t move from the body in front of him.

He gritted his teeth and dragged Stiles up and away from the bank. The only good thing about the location that he had managed to find out was that the police rarely visited the area; no one liked to call the cops there.

Lydia’s friend’s car – Danny, Peter believed – was parked nearby. The Hawaiian boy looked shocked at the sight of them but said nothing at Peter’s glare. Stiles and Lydia had promised to explain him everything. Well, at least Lydia would, Peter thought as he glanced at Stiles.

He pressed his forehead against his alpha’s.

And then his eyes glowed white.

***

Peter opened his eyes as he appeared inside their joined mindscapes. He looked around, finding nothing and everything, stars and dust and flashes of emotions and memories mixed together so well Peter sometimes wasn’t sure which had happened and which had not.

But that was not the reason he was there.

Peter located Stiles sitting in front of two memories, and the only reason he knew that was because he was in one of them, burning over and over and over again as the Molotov cocktail Stiles had thrown shattered on his head. And then he saw the light fade from his eyes and everything started all over again.

In other, Peter saw Stiles in great pain – felt it, really, with it being Stiles’ memory – and saw his crash their mistletoe cocktail over Ennis’ head and watching him suffocate to death.

Stiles lifted his head and his eyes held that similar lost look Peter had seen in the physical world – except he now recognised the steel edge underneath it.

“I liked it,” Stiles whispered, and Peter’s mouth dried. Stiles watched him keenly but Peter could only hear the echo of his heartbeat going off the rails.

“What did you like?” Peter asked, just as quietly. Stiles held his hand for him and Peter grasped it, gripping it tightly on his own.

“I didn’t like killing you,” Stiles said as he turned to watch the sight of Peter burning. “But I knew it was necessary. I didn’t want to do it but I did.” He turned to Peter. “You wouldn’t have stopped.”

Peter paused at that, considering his last moments as a werewolf. As the alpha.

“I cannot say,” he confessed, but inclined his head. “It is a possibility. Being the alpha after six years of losing my mind… it was exhilarating. I wanted revenge on those who had hurt me and who I considered my own. Yet, after kill after kill, it all started to blur…”

Stiles tilted his head. “Perhaps with time then,” he said quietly.

“With time no one had.”

“Yes,” Stiles said. The waved his hand and Peter’s final moments washed away. Only the sight of Ennis’ slow death was left. “Him, though… I was glad he was dead.” A smile curled on Stiles’ lips. “I don’t want to kill, don’t revel in the pain it causes, but he was going to kill you. Lydia, Derek, my dad… _you_.”

Peter’s eyes widened as Stiles turned to him. The red in his eyes was brighter than anything Peter had ever seen and they drew him in with force Peter wasn’t capable of resisting – nor did he want to.

“You are my connection to the land, the key to my life,” Stiles whispered. His hand uncurled from Peter’s hand and attached to his shirt, bringing him closer until there was no breath left between them. “You are the only one incapable of ever leaving me.”

“You melded me into what you needed,” Peter said reverently. This was the man he would follow to the end of the world, he knew. “I could have declined your offer of a second life but I didn’t want to. I want to be your _everything_.”

Stiles’ lashes fluttered.

“You are,” Stiles said, the wonder in his voice making Peter dizzy with desire. The hand on his neck, the tightening of its grip-

It was _wonderful_.

“I will never give you up,” Stiles whispered, eyes wide and feverish, and Peter-

Peter believed him and opened his ribcage and let Stiles in to consume him whole-

Soul and body.

And with a smile, Stiles did.

***

“What the fuck is going on?!” Danny demanded as they sat in the Stilinski living room. Stiles leaned heavily against Peter whose eyes were half-lidded with pleasure as Stiles carded his fingers through Peter’s hair. Both of their eyes were still faintly glowing with white mixed with swirling red. Stiles watched Danny almost lose his mind over how domestic a picture a thirty-something-year-old man and a teenager could make.

Jackson spared one look at the two in disgust before focusing on others, such as Derek cuddling close an exhausted Cora – and the prisoner had been Derek’s sister and Peter’s niece, Stiles thought in wonder – and Lydia who appeared from the kitchen with a tray filled with her expensive tea. Stiles’ dad was taking longer to come home. Someone had alerted the Sheriff’s department over a disturbance at the bank’s neighbourhood and promised to derail the trail until either they or the Alpha Pack had covered their tracks. He didn’t like it but knew that he’d rather have his deputies alive than dead.

Without mountain ash or mistletoe, they were pretty much doomed, and there was no conceivable explanation to tell them that they should upgrade their weapons to cover also for the supernatural.

As Lydia distributed her tea, Jackson finally broke the silence.

“Is this what you’ve been doing with Stilinski? Did he bite you too?” he asked Lydia. Lydia shook her head, arching her brows imperviously.

“Do you really think I’d _let_ someone bite me like that? If you do, then clearly you don’t know me well enough, Jackson.”

“You are still in the middle of things,” he accused.

“Peter bit her, as you well remember,” Stiles said lazily. Peter hummed and moved to lie on his lap, enjoying the attention and the strongly thrumming bond between them. “It caused her dormant banshee heritage to surface.”

“Ban- so she’s not a werewolf?” Jackson demanded. Danny’s eyes widened.

“Werewolves? These people are werewolves?!”

“Not all of them,” Stiles waved his hand. Jackson snorted.

“Yeah, us and apparently Lydia. The Hales are and so are you.”

“Actually,” Peter drawled. “You find out that I am perfection in human form.”

Jackson scowled while Danny looked confused.

“If I’m correct, you must be Peter Hale, right? Then how would you bite Lydia and Stiles if not…?”

“After Stiles killed him and his subsequent resurrection, he turned up as a human instead of a werewolf,” Lydia said. She sat down on a chair between Danny and the couch where Stiles and Peter lounged.

“You killed him? And now you’re, uh…” Danny looked afraid to ask.

“The alpha and his emissary,” Stiles said. “With some additions since the situation is already complicated. It’s not that important right now. However, we’d like to offer you a place in our pack on a trial base.”

Jackson immediately perked up while Danny still looked doubtful if he even wanted to know more.

“It doesn’t mean you’ll get bit right away or even at all,” Stiles cautioned. “We would like to see if you’d match our pack. And even if you never joined officially, you’d be welcome to stay as pack affiliate. Which reminds me, Lydia.” He tilted his head at her. “I thought we said we’d tell them tomorrow after school.”

Lydia brushed her hair aside airily. “It’s not like I could have created the diversion alone. And with you three being no help, of course I’d seek some out.” She turned her nose at him. “Besides, what’s a day in the grand scheme of things?”

“The environment, maybe,” Derek murmured. Stiles chuckled even as Lydia huffed.

“I stand by my decision.”

“Lydia,” Stiles said mildly. Lydia stiffened. “Just because I told you to question my moves doesn’t mean you get to override my decisions.”

Lydia looked like she had just swallowed something awful – perhaps her pride – but she nodded rigidly.

“Since when was Stilinski made the boss…” Jackson mumbled but there was less heat there than expected. Danny considered Lydia’s seemingly easy acceptance of Stiles’ reprimand.

“Just a trial, then?” he asked. Stiles nodded.

“We’ll tell you more about it as we go on. But the quick recap is that we are currently looking for a way to off Allison’s grandfather – evil hunter, no worries, the rest of the Argents are fine with it, mostly – and the Alpha Pack you helped us with was decidedly more murderous than expected.”

“Their emissary seemed more interested in making a deal than Ennis, so there may be dissent within their ranks,” Peter said with his eyes closed. He reminded Stiles of a cat, all prickly until he got the right kind of attention.

“Allison is a hunter?” Danny asked faintly.

“Alpha Pack?” Jackson straightened his back.

“Yeah,” Stiles just said infuriatingly. “That’s most of the supernatural in Beacon Hills right now that we know of. Oh, and then there’s Scott but… we don’t really talk about him.” Stiles’ eyes lowered. “I wonder how he’s handling things…”

“He’s been making friends, at least,” Danny said after a moment. Stiles lifted his head. Danny smiled a little lopsidedly. “He was talking to this one lacrosse player, Lahey. I heard they’ve started practicing together.”

Lahey. That’s the name of the person Derek wanted them to check out. But if Scott had gotten to him first… Stiles exchanged a look with Derek who just shook his head. He knew nothing of it then. Must be a recent development.

“This reminds me,” Stiles piped up, more cheerily than he felt. “Derek, you’re going to start helping me train. Ennis almost got me and, while I know he’s not the best comparison, I really need to learn how to fight better. If it weren’t for one of Lydia’s bottles, I’m not sure how the fight would have turned out.”

“Peter was always the better fighter,” Derek admitted, and Peter preened from his position. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“But he doesn’t have the strength and healing required to aid me. No offence, Peter. I did want you there to give us tips.”

“Anything, my alpha,” Peter breathed aloud. Stiles gripped his hair in warning, but Peter merely stretched languidly, enjoying the pain.

“This quickly got disturbing,” Jackson commented.

“Just drink your tea,” Lydia ordered, even if she also side-eyed them.

Stiles and Peter smirked in unison, eyes finally fading to their normal colours.

***

Things turned out to be quite quiet over the next few weeks. Their English substitute, Ms. Blake, disappeared without a word two weeks after Cora’s rescue, after seven horrible murders in quick succession that had had Stiles’ dad scratching his head. Peter had commented on their ritualistic nature but the murders had stopped before they could make anything out of it.

Even Stiles’ childhood friend Heather had not managed to remain unscathed, and Stiles couldn’t help but want to rip the head off whoever killed the girl he had upon a time shared even a bath with, before his mom, even before Scott.

The Alpha Pack also remained silent. When they had gone to clean up Ennis’ body, it had already disappeared, and there had been no traces of anyone ever being there. They did find an alarming trail of massacres in Deucalion and Ennis’ wake – unfortunately, they had been unable to find more about the rest of the pack. Their recent disappearance from Beacon Hills had to have more to do with the magic Stiles could taste in the air than anything else, however. The emissary must have done some impressive cloaking since Stiles couldn’t find any of them through his connection to the land nor could Peter find them through his shadow-walk.

That was one thing that was developing as well. Peter had finally cracked, admitting that his time beyond had had an effect on his abilities. He couldn’t connect to the nature the same way druids and emissaries usually did – and the two were often spoken synonymously, Stiles had found out – because he was more in tune with the dead than the living. He could access to the shadows and the power of death instead of healing and the living elements. He sounded a little put off by how half of his research turned out to be useless to him personally but was also more interested in exploring the unknown.

Stiles was also a quick study in his fighting lessons. Cora, who had taken to the pack surprisingly well considering she had thought Derek had been the alpha and not some teenage punk (“I’m still your age, Cora!”), had turned out to be vicious in the battlefield and even less agreeable to the idea of parting with her newfound family – not that anyone had asked her to, she had just stated that the moment she woke up.

Derek and Peter had buried the hatchet for the moment but Stiles wasn’t entirely sure if they had actually talked about their problems. Peter avoided answering Stiles’ questions like the snake he was and Derek turned to stone the moment Stiles even tried hinting towards it. In the end, he had decided to watch over them and if the problems started causing trouble- well. Stiles wasn’t the alpha for no reason.

Danny and Jackson also took to being trial pack members like ducks to water. Perhaps that had been because they had been friends with Lydia to begin with and going that direction with Stiles as well. It might have been better that they hadn’t been that close before too. They didn’t question his motives the way Scott would have and had fresh ideas on how to work things. They had also made a few moves to befriend Boyd but he didn’t seem too receptive to their efforts. He had even been suspicious of Danny and everyone liked him!

Speaking of Scott… he seemed to have built a new friend group, particularly with his lacrosse buddy Isaac Lahey and a girl called Erica Reyes. There were also a pair of twins that gave Stiles a bad feeling but he couldn’t say why. It was like half of whatever made them, well, _them_ , was missing from their aura. Allison was sort of orbiting around both groups, somehow treating both of them as her friends slash acquaintances and also as possible enemies. She didn’t seem comfortable with Scott’s moon eyes nor the idea that Lydia was part of Stiles’ pack.

Stiles was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Their enemies had all but disappeared into the thin air without ever making real contact and that made Stiles worried and this, in turn, made the rest of the pack restless as well.

Naturally, he had to be right.

***

Stiles flew up from his seat, gasping as his connection to the Hale lands wailed like a thousand banshees. Peter, on the other end of their bond, reached to him to keep him from shifting with an iron grip over his body. Stiles was thankful. The wolf inside him was howling for blood and he would have burst out of his skin had Peter not been there for him. He focused on the golden strands inside him and kept himself grounded as he took in his breath.

“-linski, Mr. Stilinski! Sit down!” Harris ordered him but Stiles just wasn’t focusing on him. He knew something was wrong with his territory and it was calling for him to come and defend it.

No chemistry lesson was going to stop him.

He ignored Harris’ yells of detention and the first look Scott deemed to fit him in weeks and rushed outside. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, ordering his pack to meet him in the preserve. He asked Danny to stay behind just in case, holding the base so to say, to which he agreed. Danny, while thawing to the idea of supernatural, was still more useful out of the fight than in it as he seemed more than content with staying human.

The rest, though, followed his orders, and Stiles met with Lydia and Jackson at the parking lot and all three of the Hales at the ruins of the Hale house.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Stiles directed his question at Peter who quickly agreed. Lydia looked haunted as she stared at the woods.

“What is it?” Cora demanded. She was still iffy about the details of her capture and experiences after fire but Stiles had started to suspect she had been born curt.

“The lands started crying for help,” Stiles said.

“And the impressions left behind by the dead Hales,” Lydia said softly, exhaustion falling over her features. Stiles blinked.

“What?”

“Lydia and I figured that I might be able to access to the knowledge of my ancestors through my blood bonds,” Peter explained. Lydia closed her eyes. He glanced at her for a brief second and added, “And she might be able to access to the memories of the dead when she has more control over her power, as a native of the dead herself. Now though…”

“What’s the difference?” Derek asked. Stiles waved his hand, focusing on the direction where he felt the distraction was coming from.

“Peter won’t be able to talk to them like I will,” Lydia said. She opened her eyes, looking into the distance. “And now they are all screaming, they are all screaming so loud, but there is a girl screaming louder than the rest, like someone is killing her again and again and again.”

“Who is she?” Peter questioned. Lydia looked like she hadn’t heard him.

“She’s been stuck there for so long… her soul was bound and now she’s being torn apart.” Lydia suddenly moved to the side and retched on the ground. Jackson quickly dropped to her side, holding her hair back as she emptied the contents on her stomach. Lydia whimpered even as she weakly tried to stand.

Cora moved next to her and with a swift move picked her up.

“We going?” she grouched. Stiles nodded, picking up the pace. Derek outpaced him, pushing forward. As they moved closer to the disturbance, Lydia looked paler with each step. She seemed determined not to stop though. The moment they hit the clearing, though, was something none of them were prepared to face.

The tree stump before them was littered with corpses. From young to old, man to woman, there didn’t seem to be anything to link them to each other. Except-

“Heather?” Stiles whispered, shocked, as he recognised one of the bloodied faces. He tried to a step forward but a grip on his arm held him back.

“That’s just a memory,” Peter said lowly. He craned his head around. “A mirage.”

Derek cautiously moved closer. He touched one of the ‘corpses’ but his hand fell through. He quickly retraced his steps, a look of revulsion on his face.

“She’s here,” Lydia whispered as Cora lowered her to the ground.

“And so is our substitute,” Jackson said. He knocked his shoe against the headless body of their former English teacher, Ms. Blake. He frowned, eyes flickering from her to the ‘bodies’ on the stump. “She looks different from them. Properly rotting and all. She’s also… she looks weird.”

“Killed by a different person?” Cora questioned. “Or…?”

Peter kneeled down by Ms. Blake’s body, tilting her until she was on her back. There were bullet wounds on her back, slashes around her ankles. Her face was an amalgamation of a young woman and an old crone. He slowly shook his head.

“No. She was killed by a hunter.”

“Gerard?” Stiles was instantly alert. “But why?”

“She smells rotten… and not just because of her appearance. A darach,” Peter said. He stood up. “She was probably the person who killed those people. That’s why the killings felt so familiar. Five-folded knot.”

Stiles hissed. That was… bad.

“A good thing she was stopped then. But what is this then?” He gestured at the stump.

Derek was pale.

“What… did you say the girl looked like, Lydia?”

Lydia was leaning heavily on Jackson by now. “Young, long hair. Sad eyes. She- she has a mole-”

“Paige,” Derek whispered. Peter grimaced. “We have to help her.”

“She’s tied down. The corpses are souls in stasis – Ms. Blake didn’t finish. They were once probably the same as her but- someone is draining them. Drinking their essence until nothing is left. And she’s next.”

 “What does Gerard want with them?” Stiles asked. No one had the answer for him.

“Can we disrupt whatever he is doing?” Derek asked as if he was in physical pain. Peter lay a hand on his shoulder but Derek flinched. Peter’s expression was grim.

“We need to research and regroup. We are going to right this, Derek. I promise.”

 _I’m sorry_ , was left unsaid but Stiles heard anyway.

“Yes, uncle,” Derek whispered and, with a last longing look, he let himself be dragged away.

***

“Danny, get us everything you can about the five-folded knot and human sacrifices, asap. And if you can find any information on Jennifer Blake and track Gerard Argent, I’d be eternally grateful,” Stiles called Danny the moment he had a signal again. Danny agreed and hung up immediately to get to his hacking and cracking. When they arrived to the Stilinski household, Danny was there waiting for them. And so was his dad, all disapproving and worried.

“Stiles.”

Stiles winced. “I texted you!”

“On the group chat.”

Yeah, he had said that wasn’t going to cut it.

“I promise to do better next time.”

His dad sighed. “And there is going to be a next time,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Fine. You better.”

“I do so swear.” Stiles raised his hand while the other clutched at his chest. He quickly grew serious. “Danny, do you have anything for us?”

“I checked your files, I have nothing on the sacrifices that you might need. Jennifer Blake was a false name. I have nothing conclusive, but she could be a survivor of a massacre back in Michigan. That could be a link to the Alpha Pack but it’s still uncertain, sorry. But I found Argent.”

“You did?” Stiles asked. “Where is he?”

Danny showed him. Stiles frowned.

“Why is he at the hospital?”

“He has incurable cancer,” Danny explained.

“Is he… trying to extend his life? By using the souls of the _dead_?” Stiles shook his head. He turned to Peter. “Is it possible for him to eat up the wasted life force?”

“Since he disrupted the ritual… it might, if it anchored to him, and didn’t just blow up in his face.”

“We couldn’t be that lucky,” Derek mumbled, harrowed look on his face. Cora, with a pained sigh, cuddled next to him.

“We need to lure him out of the hospital. We can’t attack anyone there,” Stiles said. He paced around his room. His dad rolled his eyes.

“Let me. I’ll announce I have a warrant for him. He’s not terminal yet, right? I can still take him to the station and he knows it.”

“Dad…”

“Let me at least do that for you, kiddo,” his dad sighed. “I can’t arrest him, can I?”

“No,” Stiles admitted. “He’s ours.”

“Geez. Fine. I don’t approve of vigilante justice but I know when I’m beaten.” He ruffled Stiles’ hair. He squinted at it. “Finally getting rid of the buzz, are we?” He smiled gently. “It suits you. Just like your mom liked it.”

Stiles suddenly felt a clump on his throat. It made it hard to swallow.

“I shouldn’t be listening to the rest of your plans,” his dad said. He stood up. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed. You are lucky it’s Saturday tomorrow or otherwise I’d shoo you off to bed as well, plots to rule the world be damned. Just don’t stay up too late, alright?”

“Night, dad,” Stiles said, his pack echoing him with a mixture of Mr. Stilinski and Sheriff. His dad just shook his head and left with a wave of his hand.

Stiles turned back to his pack.

“So dad’s drawing him out. He doesn’t have a place to go. What’s the chance he’d go back to his scene of crime?”

“High,” Lydia said, tapping the map and eyes back with the sharpness that belonged to them. Stiles grinned.

He liked those odds.

“No time like the present – or tomorrow, tomorrow’s great,” he hastily corrected, glancing upstairs. Cora and Jackson looked identically unimpressed. Props for them. Lydia nudged Derek and whispered something in his ear – Stiles pretended he wasn’t listening – and Derek relaxed slightly, nodding even as he glanced at the direction the tree stump was.

As the pack finalised their plans, Peter snuck up on Stiles and stood close enough for him to feel the heat of his body. Stiles leaned back, head resting on Peter’s shoulder and nose on his throat. The pleased growl Peter let out sent tingles down Stiles’ back. He mouthed at the tendon on Peter’s neck, biting down without breaking skin, canines pressing against his flesh.

Stiles smirked at Peter from beneath his lashes and sashayed away, leaving behind a bruise the size of his mouth.

***

Stiles and Derek laid in wait for Gerard outside the hospital. Stiles’ father had just gone in, and it wouldn’t be too long before Gerard would rush outside with his tail between his legs. Jackson was waiting for them back at the parking lot while Stiles and Derek watched for the entrances, waiting for a sign and to follow the guy responsible for the torment of the dead – Heather, the rest of the sacrifices… and whoever Paige was.

They heard the familiar voices coming from the back exit – naturally – and made a move to follow him-

Only to hear Jackson’s cry for help.

Stiles waved at Derek to follow Gerard but the two of them found themselves surrounded by the twins that Scott was friends with-

The twins whose eyes shone red.

Alphas.

“We need you to come with us,” the twin facing Stiles’ said. His mouth was twisted in an ugly grin. Stiles gritted his teeth and let his eyes flash, touching the brightest bond he had. The alpha in front of him looked at him curiously but Stiles only nodded once. Derek was at his side instantly, glaring at the woman holding an unconscious Jackson with her.

Stiles’ eyes flared red again, this time in a flash of anger.

They dared.

And as they walked off, Stiles heard Gerard slip from his fingers.

***

Peter let his eyes fade. He turned to Cora, Lydia and Danny, eyes grim and smile sharp, as they stood far enough from the Nemeton that Lydia wouldn’t suffer any unnecessary damage to her psyche.

“I think it’s time for me to start fulfilling my role as the emissary,” he said silkily and withdrew his phone. Danny nodded, twiddling with it.

The call connected.

***

“Thank you for coming,” a man with sunglasses greeted Stiles and Derek as they arrived. The twins and the emissary walked into the building behind them, one of the alphas carrying Jackson. Derek had tried to get him but had been forced to move without. Stiles suspected it was meant to be an incentive to behave.

It was a good one at that.

“What a graceful welcome,” Stiles sneered. “What do you want, Deucalion?”

Deucalion, since he couldn’t be anyone else, seemed momentarily taken aback. “I admit, I am quite surprised you know my name.”

“Your emissary told enough,” Stiles just said. The woman dropped her head although her expression didn’t even twitch when Deucalion’s eyes found her.

“That reminds me, you killed two of my packmates,” Deucalion said. His cane tapped the floor twice. “I do think I am owed… compensation.”

Stiles blinked slowly. “I only killed Ennis. I have no idea who else you are talking about.”

Deucalion frowned. He tapped his cane on the floor again. Stiles tensed but nothing happened.

“You are quite certain?”

Stiles scowled. “I think I’d know how many people I have killed. That’s two, by the way. Peter Hale and Ennis.”

Deucalion took off his sunglasses and Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. The alpha was blind! “That does explain why you are the alpha instead of Derek here. And I hear Peter is alive now? And human at that.”

Stiles glanced at the emissary. Deucalion nodded. “Marin shared with me… most of your encounter.”

Marin. The name sounded… familiar. Stiles quickly connected the dots. “The school counsellor? Really?”

“It was effective, though not to the extent I had hoped. None of your pack ever visited me, Mr. Stilinski,” Marin said. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“We are a pack, not a nut house.”

“Some might disagree,” one of the twins mumbled. Stiles sent a glare at him.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you with Scott. What do you want with him? With us?”

“He will be a rather nice addition to my pack, to replace the loss of Kali and Ennis,” Deucalion said. Stiles gave him an incredulous look, his eye twitching.

“Scott? Into your little band of murderers? Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”

“He does have an unfortunate tendency to think the best of people,” Deucalion admitted freely. “But an alpha who gained his powers without killing? He’d be the crown jewel of my plan. As would be the potential hidden in the Hale line. No one could ignore us any longer.”

Both Derek and Stiles tensed. Stiles took a step in front of Derek although with the three alphas surrounding them, it was proved to be futile.

“Derek, what is he talking about?” Stiles asked, more concerned over his beta than anything else, filing the rest for later examination. Derek swallowed.

“My mother… had the rare ability to shift into a wolf. A full-shift, not just the half-shift most born and bitten wolves are restricted to. That gained her a lot of recognition in the supernatural community.”

“Being an alpha would increase the odds,” Deucalion added with a smile.

“Derek would not kill me,” Stiles said bluntly. “And you can’t make him.”

Deucalion tapped his cane.

“Are you sure?”

Stiles suddenly realised something. “That’s why you had Cora. You thought he would join you if you had insurance!” Stiles narrowed his eyes, pieces finally falling into place. “And kill his pack for you!”

Derek suddenly paled.

“Stiles- you know I wouldn’t-”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Stiles dismissed immediately. Derek sagged in relief. Stiles glared at Deucalion. “And you dare to even suggest that!” To someone whose entire life was destroyed by hunters, he thought, and bared his teeth in a decidedly animalistic manner.

“I have to admit I worked under the assumption he had killed his own uncle,” Deucalion said. He lifted his cane. “You are sure I couldn’t convince you to kill this… bitten beta? This cheap, laughable imitation of a Hale alpha?” he directed his question at Derek.

Derek looked sick at the very thought. Deucalion sighed.

“Very well.”

The cane fell to the floor.

And the room was filled with Jackson’s pained gasp and the smell of his blood.

***

“Are you going somewhere?”

Peter watched as Gerard paused for barely a second. He looked twitchy from where Peter was looking, gaunt and well-fed at the same time. Had to be the diet, really.

“Peter Hale,” Gerard said, voice hoarse. A demented smile crept upon his face. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m sure. You daughter did as well. You’ll find that she didn’t find meeting me as… fruitful as she might have hoped.”

The smile quickly fell from Gerard’s face and was replaced by an ugly sneer. Peter just beamed angelically.

“Now, as much as I’d like to gut you open and feed your insides to the carrions, I have others who would like to clean their reputation even more.” He gestured at the woods, where figures had started to move towards them. Gerard turned around, eyes bulging as he took in the people he knew all too well.

Victoria Argent’s face was just as cold and expressionless as ever but, this time, so was Chris’. And dear little Allison’s… Peter laughed inwardly.

If this wasn’t enough to fetch them a mighty ally, then nothing was. The Argent reputation was in the mud because of Gerard and this was their only chance at redeeming themselves.

Oh yes, Peter was expecting his alpha to appreciate his generosity and self-restrain since he wanted nothing more than to wring that thin little neck and claw those beady eyes off their sockets-

“Lydia,” he said quietly, and the banshee turned her pale and sightless eyes on him. “Are you ready?”

She looked back at the Nemeton where the images of the bodies were still to be seen, in the midst of the screams only she could hear. She spread her arms and Peter rushed to plug his ears.

She screamed, piercing and loud, the noise echoing in the darkening woods, and Gerard howled in pain as the souls he had been leeching on were forcibly freed from their ties to him. The images faded away until Peter could no longer see them, until he wasn’t able to feel the shades in the growing shadows.

Peter nodded at Lydia who glowed under the pale light of the moon above. She smiled back, serene for the first time since she entered the woods, and turned to look as the Argents apprehended their rogue hunter.

And then he melted until it was like he had never even been there.

***

Stiles roared, his bones cracking as all his restrains fell away, and he flew forward to tackle Deucalion to the floor. Deucalion avoided him but not before Stiles managed to catch him in his stomach, slicing through his clothes. A slight wound formed on the pale flesh underneath. Deucalion bared his teeth and his eyes glowed red. Stiles jumped further away, finding a ledge to help him propel himself back at Deucalion with more force than Stiles had in himself.

The eyes followed him. Stiles growled low.

Deucalion could see!

Stiles didn’t spare a glance where Derek was facing the twins. He wanted to look to see why he was only hearing two people battling and the pained groans from Jackson but he knew he would only give Deucalion the chance to attack. He had to trust Derek – his first beta.

He threw himself on Deucalion again. He barely managed to avoid the claws that met him, hungering for the taste of his flesh and blood. Stiles knew instantly that Deucalion was stronger than him. He was older, faster, more physically imposing. The only thing Stiles had to him was the strength of his youth – agility, wits, unpredictability.

He needed to think outside the box.

Stiles heard the sound of screeching tyres from outside, and then a crash and a howl as Cora burst through a window and onto someone. Judging from the pained noise, it was one of the twins. Derek snarled and seemed to attack as well.

And Stiles was distracted.

He bit out a curse as Deucalion slashed his arm. Blood burst from the wound, colouring Stiles’ sleeve bright red.

Well, Peter had never liked the shirt anyway.

He used the wound to pull Deucalion closer and pushed one of his fingers through his left eye socket. Deucalion howled in pain. He dug his claws deeper into Stiles’ arm and would have probably severed the whole limb had Stiles not pulled himself free. He fell backwards as Deucalion swiped the feet from under him.

The ground beneath them was painted red.

A scream sounded somewhere afar and echoed around the woods around the building they were in, a warehouse of a sort. Stiles recognised it.

Lydia.

Stiles instantly picked himself up from the floor. He needed to end this. His pack needed him. He would kill Deucalion if it came to that, he swore, determination brightening his eyes. Deucalion glared at him.

“Mongrel- what alpha has defect eyes?!”

Stiles grinned.

“We do,” he said in unison with Peter who pushed the shadows underneath him at Deucalion, having appeared behind him as soundlessly as a shadow himself. Stiles used Deucalion’s distraction to use his move against him and Deucalion found himself tangling with the same shadows he had tried to throw off him.

“You- you can’t- destroy my vision- I am _the demon wolf_!” he yelled. Stiles laughed, finding his other half laughing with him and the Hale lands trembling with them.

“We are the future,” he said, voicing the sentiment the lands wanted him to, and burrowed his arm through Deucalion’s chest. His heart, which was frantically beating inside Stiles’ fist, burst as Stiles wrenched it out and dig his claws in it, pulling it apart.

Stiles felt Deucalion’s power circle around him and he knew he would be twice, if not more, powerful than he was now if he accepted it. Stiles sighed, shaking his head, and reached into the ground. The Hale lands accepted the offering, curling around the dozens of screaming remnants of souls, smothering them for once and for all for the final time.

When Stiles opened his eyes, Deucalion’s body was nowhere to be seen, and Peter was watching him with an expression that wouldn’t be amiss on the face of a man finding water after years of thirst. Stiles wanted nothing more than to answer the silent question he found there.

Reality crashed down on them, however, when they heard Jackson’s weakening whimpers. Stiles immediately rushed at his side, for the moment ignoring the way the door was off its hinges and there were no twin alphas to be found, where Derek and Cora were doing their best to slow the blood flow from Jackson’s stomach and Danny was anxiously pacing.

He had lost too much. But-

Stiles gripped Jackson’s arm, gaining a pain-delirious look for his rewards. Good. At least he was still conscious.

“Do you still want the bite?” he asked directly. Jackson just looked at him, unable to comprehend what he was asking. Stiles lifted his arm, extending his teeth. Jackson’s eyes widened and something like hope bloomed in them.

Stiles smiled in return, the decision made, and bit down. Jackson screamed and the pain of his wounds, new and old, finally drove him over the edge. Derek held him close when Stiles fell backwards, sitting on the ground, feeling weak as a kitten even if that was the furthest from the truth.

Cora scowled at him and brusquely grabbed at him. Stiles hissed in pain.

“You are an idiot,” Cora told him. The highest of praises, Stiles laughed inwardly.

“Where’s the emissary? Where’s Marin?” Stiles asked. He found himself suddenly gritting his teeth as Cora ripped her shirt to pieces and to tie it around his arm, leaving her only in her sports bra.

No one knew. She had vanished at some point during the battle.

“At least we know her name,” Stiles mumbled, and winced. Cora was not gentle at all. “What about the twins?”

“They fused together into this one large werewolf,” Derek explained. He gently pressed at Jackson’s stomach wound with their makeshift bandage.

“On steroids,” Cora added.

Stiles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Deucalion and his freak circus,” he mumbled. “At least we never met Kali, whoever that was. I bet they were somehow insane as well. And?”

“And when they realised Deucalion had lost, they ran away. They threw Jackson at us as a distraction.” Derek’s scowl was harsher than Stiles had ever seen. He glanced at Peter who had kneeled next to Stiles, not quite looking surprised to find him there. “Paige?”

“She’s finally at rest, Derek,” Peter told him quietly. Derek closed his eyes and tersely said his thanks. Stiles got the idea he was holding back tears. He coughed once, gaining his pack’s attention.

“Let’s head back to my house. We’ll need to regroup. We’ve managed to survive two of our three enemies. Tomorrow, we are going after the third, no matter what,” he announced. His pack was instantly alert.

“Who is left?” Peter asked quietly. When Stiles met his and his pack’s eyes, he saw that they knew, that they were just waiting for his confirmation. Stiles swallowed something that felt like betrayal.

“Scott.”

***

The next morning came quietly. There was no sunshine, for there were clouds. There was no noise, for it was Sunday. There was no peace in the wake of violence.

But there was still light on the horizon. Jackson still breathed and his wounds were healing. The print of Stiles’ teeth was fading but so were the wounds inflicted by the alpha twins. His face was no longer pale with blood loss. Danny and Lydia sat next to him the whole night, guarding him against any threats that might appear to take him away from them.

They didn’t say it but with the way Stiles’ dad watched over them in the living room made the space feel safer.

Derek and Cora had disappeared into the only guest room Stiles and his dad had. Derek didn’t look as haunted anymore, but Cora had manhandled him into the room and only told Stiles bluntly that she would handle it in not so many words. Rather, it was closer to a “go away” than anything else but he’d take it.

Stiles himself laid in his bed. He couldn’t stand in vigil over Jackson – Lydia and Danny got him covered and he’d only make them more anxious – and he couldn’t go to Derek since they might trust each other but Stiles didn’t know the story – not like Cora seemed to. And Peter, but he was part of whatever had happened and this new dig into the past had dragged everything forward again.

They were healing but it was slow going – for the Hales slower than most.

Stiles sighed. The arms around him tightened.

“Why so deep?” Peter rumbled against his back. The press against his back had Stiles arching into the embrace.

“Just thinking. I’m trying to alpha a group of more or less supernaturally-inclined but I’m not doing much. I’m just… there,” Stiles said. Peter huffed and his breath tickled the back of Stiles’ neck. “What?” he asked, annoyed.

“You are not just there,” Peter told him, smirk pressing at his neck. “You are the pillar holding them together. The alpha is not meant to micromanage his pack. He is only supposed to be there when they need him and, in return, they are there for him when he asks them to be. It’s give and take, my alpha.”

“I just feel so useless,” Stiles confessed quietly. “I know I don’t know much – hell, I’ve been a werewolf and an alpha for, what, a couple of months? Three months? And known about this- this new world for not much longer.”

“That’s why you have me.” The arms started wandering, one of them moving under Stiles’ shirt. Stiles let out a soundless gasp. The words were mouthed against his shoulder. “The old ways are dying. Things are changing. The Alpha Pack tried and failed. Gerard tried and failed. We? We won’t. You’ll bring us to a new age.”

“No pressure then,” Stiles moaned, Peter’s hand pressing down on his cock. Peter hummed, the thrum sending chills down Stiles’ back.

“There is nothing I believe in more than that,” Peter whispered. “The Hale lands, the will of my ancestors, chose you the moment they had the choice. Our survival depends on you. And you chose me to help you. Perhaps not on purpose but your instincts guided you, knew what I could be for you. Even after what I did to you and your loved ones.”

“You were protecting yours and only yours,” Stiles said, and his bones echoed with the truth of it. He pressed back at the bulge he could feel on the small of his back.

“Still guilty.” Kisses shaped by teeth made their home on Stiles’ flesh. “But you saw past that. You are everything I ever wanted and even letting go of the chance to become the alpha again was nothing next to seeing the future you – _we_ – will create.”

“And there is no one else I want to see it with,” Stiles panted as he grinded down, feeling the shape of Peter’s cock against his ass. He could barely see through his lashes. Peter grunted behind him, and a hand closed in on Stiles’ throat. With frantic little moves and another hand rubbing his cock, Stiles fell over the edge. Not long after he felt warmth also spreading on his back.

“You really let it go,” he chuckled breathlessly. Peter nuzzled and licked the span of skin he had already marked with fading marks.

“I will know every nook of your body, _my_ alpha,” Peter promised in a whisper light as a feather. Stiles felt it curl around him tight like manacles.

“Yes,” he gasped, surrendering to the demand. And he knew, the way Peter knew, that the more Peter familiarised himself with everything that Stiles was, the more owned he would become himself. It was a vicious cycle neither found themselves willing to break.

There would be others who would judge them and find them wanting. Unconventional and unhealthy. Sick and twisted. Strange and scary.

Stiles turned around and stared into the eyes that reflected his own. He licked his lips and watched Peter’s eyes dilate.

To hell and back.

***

The clouds hadn’t cleared by the time Stiles and his pack made their way to the spot in the woods Danny had tracked Scott. They had decided against sending a message ahead but it was more than possible that they wouldn’t find him alone. It was guaranteed even, as Danny checked that Erica and Isaac – the ones they knew for sure Scott had hung around lately – and found them with him. With what Deucalion had said, Stiles had a bad idea of what was going on.

They arrived at the clearing. Stiles walked with Derek on his right and Peter on his left as his first beta and emissary. Lydia walked next to Peter, hair free and flowing in the wind, Jackson walking between her and Danny with golden eyes. Cora walked like a warrior next to her brother, both looking as beautiful and fearsome like the survivors they were.

The people they found in the clearing stood watching them arrive with stiff backs and warnings in their stances. The alpha twins lingered in the fringe, eyes blazing red and mouths open in ugly snarls. A blond girl and a curly haired boy stood side by side with bright gazes and sharp claws. Erica Reyes and Isaac Lahey. They reminded Stiles of feral dogs, with little sense and all the aggression. Then there was Deaton, Scott’s boss – which made Stiles blink twice in confusion until he smelled traces of mountain ash and mistletoe hidden in his pockets. He was a druid, an emissary, he realised. A threat. There was something familiar in him too, he thought, eyes narrow; something that reminded him of the Alpha Pack’s emissary.

And then there was Scott and his eyes sharing the same shade of brilliance that Stiles himself owned and the land groaned under Stiles’ feet.

“So Deucalion didn’t lie,” he said to his fellow alpha. Scott scowled.

“You killed him.”

Stiles’ raised his brows. He took a step forward and Reyes growled at him. Cora answered with one of her own, low but clear, causing Reyes to whimper. Cora smirked even as Scott’s expression grew more severe.

“Control your pack,” Scott demanded. Stiles exchanged a look with Cora who just shrugged, revealing her fangs ever so slightly.

“I think they have a better grasp on themselves than yours do,” he said finally. He turned back to Scott, letting his eyes fall on his pack. “You thought that being a werewolf was a curse. When did you decide it was something to share with everyone you met?”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Reyes bit out. Stiles tilted his head, and examined her.

“Why would you take the bite?” he asked curiously. “Did you have a condition of some sort?” he tacked on after getting a whiff of remnants of something medicinal.

“Epilepsy,” Reyes told him, scowling. She bared her teeth. “And Scott was the only one to care. He gave me a life when I had none.”

“That would do it,” Peter murmured. Stiles knocked their shoulders together. He eyed Lahey as well but dismissed him. He seemed almost as volatile as Reyes but there was something more calculating in his eyes than the blind gratefulness in Reyes’.

“…How are you alpha, Scott?” Stiles finally asked after the silence had stretched over the past minutes and the tension had grown thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Danny seemed on the edge which was a lot to say. Scott raised his head proudly.

“I achieved it without murder,” he said, preening as he did. He grinned at Deaton. “My emissary told me it was a trait of a True Alpha – one that appears to bring a change into a world in need, who achieves the highest position purely through strength of character.”

Stiles glanced at Peter. Peter shook his head. “I have never heard of anything as ridiculous,” Peter said bluntly. Scott scoffed.

“What would you know?” He glared at Peter. “You bit innocents and now practice necromancy!”

Peter snorted a laugh. “Please. Necromancy? And do you really think I’d have ever bitten you had I been sane? No, had I known, I’d have bitten Stiles and later I corrected my mistake. Can’t you see how beautiful he is?” Peter draped himself over Stiles and, with a roll of eyes, Stiles let him. “The alpha the land chose, and with a powerful pack at his beck and call, of free will at that.”

“Stiles. You took the bite _willingly_? From _him_?” Scott looked at Stiles in disgust. Stiles crossed his arms.

“Losing my humanity was the best that I could have done all things considered.”

“He’s brainwashed you,” Scott said through gritted teeth. Lahey and Reyes moved impatiently next to him. “Dr. Deaton was right. He’s controlling you, Stiles!”

Stiles stared at him in incredulity. “What on earth are you talking about, Scott?”

“The Stiles I know wouldn’t consort with murderers!” Scott insisted. “He must have done something to you when he bit you so that his power would transfer to you. Then he came back to life, using the darkest of magics, and is now controlling you! Stiles, can’t you see? You never should have become alpha!”

Stiles had lost his ability to speak. He watched Scott wave his hands, bewildered. What on earth was Scott talking about?

“You never should have become alpha,” Scott repeated, and then gestured at himself. “And this only proves it. I am going to right your wrong and everything will be fine again.”

“What the fuck is McCall talking about?” Jackson asked. His eyes flickered at Lahey and Reyes, already demonstrating better control than either of them. A burst of wind breezed in the clearing, cold and unrelenting.

Scott started to look impatient. “The land chose me as the alpha, not you, Stiles,” he said almost gently. Stiles stiffened. Even Derek looked affronted at the slight, the only one who had any claim to the Hale spark and the lands themselves. “I realised that when I became one without killing anyone. We don’t have to kill, Stiles. You are going at it all wrong and the balance recognises it-”

“I killed Peter because it needed to be done. That wrong has been righted and now he stands in his rightful place as my emissary,” Stiles interrupted. His gaze shifted to the alpha twins who glared back with that hateful red of theirs.

“The Alpha Pack was full of murderers,” he continued. He couldn’t believe the shit that came out of Scott’s mouth. “They didn’t even feel remorse. And we should have just let them go, like you seem to have done?”

“They had a vision,” Scott insisted. “They-”

“They tried to kill us! They killed _their packs_ , all those innocent people-”

“You tried to kill them! They only wanted to repent-!”

“What- hell, Scott, _are you listening to yourself right now_?”

“You know he’s not,” Lydia murmured delicately, tossing her hair.

“You were attacking them!” Scott gestured at the twins. He even took a step to stand before them. “And I won’t allow you to hunt them any longer!”

“We are not- we were _defending_ ourselves! They weren’t like the Argents who we could hold in prison – no bars would hold a fucking werewolf!”

“So you admit you killed Allison’s family, her grandfather?!”

“Scott,” Stiles said with forced calm. His grip on Peter’s hand, on the other hand, had to hurt but Peter said nothing, only grounded him tighter. Deaton eyed them, a sense of distaste pouring from him.

_You are an abomination of what an alpha-emissary bond should be._

“Gerard was killed by the Argents themselves for his crimes! Victoria and Chris turned against him when his crimes were exposed, as their new matriarch – who is _Allison_ , by the way – demanded.”

Scott looked shocked for the barest of seconds before his expression slid into stubborn determination. His mouth moved but Stiles couldn’t hear the denials and accusations that fell from his former friend’s lips. The look was so familiar that Stiles’ heart ached. He still remembered when it had been him and Scott against the world, him with his ADHD and Scott with his asthma. Now both of them had lost what made them outcasts. Scott’s illness had disappeared the moment the turned werewolf and Stiles’ ADHD had been grounded by his connection to the land – and Peter.

Peter.

Stiles blinked, rewinding what Scott had said. The bullshit he had spoken- it hadn’t sounded like Scott. The willingness to believe the best of all, seeing in black and white, yes, but-

“Why did Deaton go to Scott?” he asked calmly, gaze directed at the druid. He ignored the posturing, the aggression, that was pouring from Scott’s pack – even the disgust Deaton showed them.

“Because, Stiles, you didn’t go to him. You came to _me_ ,” Peter sneered. The look he gave to Deaton was filled with pure loathing. “I thought his name was familiar but this confirms it. He was the former Hale pack emissary. The slight of being discarded must have smarted. A new alpha, with potential to be powerful, and he would not have someone with Deaton’s credentials.”

Stiles considered Deaton, the cryptic words he had spouted at them, the imploring looks – the knowledge he hadn’t done his all to protect the Hales. Stiles knew that if it had been Peter, if they had been faced with a similar situation, he wouldn’t have stopped at anything to protect them, to protect his alpha. But the situation was different. They had triumphed over the Alpha Pack and the Argents through their wits and with minimal violence.

“Derek, Cora? Lydia?” Stiles spoke. His betas glanced at him but kept their attention at the threats before them. “Have you heard anything about true alphas?” he asked, refusing to add the capital letters he could hear Scott adding to his new ‘title’.

Their answer was a resounding “no”. Scott’s look was growing ever darker, his claws lengthening. Deaton was murmuring something into his ear but Stiles couldn’t hear what. He froze. Staring at the way Deaton was keeping his hand on Scott’s shoulder, tracing a pattern there-

Stiles felt his eyes change as he reached for his and Peter’s bond. He knew Peter’s would reflect the red-white swirling mixture as well. The twin alphas stiffened and a whiff of fear tasting of them filled the air.

_What happens if an alpha spark has nowhere to go?_

Peter’s eyes widened and the same alarm echoed back and forth the tie to their very being, confirming Stiles’ speculations.

Kali. Ennis.

Stiles lifted his chin, jaw clenching.

Whether Scott knew it or not, he was not the saint he thought he was. Determined to believe he was the best there was, the angel in the eyes of his mother – the followed in Stiles’ madness until no longer, he was going to stand up-

And that meant not asking questions of how things happened. And if someone came along, someone like Deaton, telling him he was the second coming of werewolf Jesus or whatever… And if he saw his personal devil with the person who ‘destroyed’ his chance to become a human again?

Then why wait? Create a pack, recklessly and with the intent of creating his personal cult, what a wonderful idea. What need is there for creating bonds when you can have others worship the ground under you? He would lead them to- what, revealing the supernatural to the general public?

Stiles knew his former best friend, he knew him well. He finally felt some of his iron tight control slip, his canines growing past his lips.

Scott was threatening the lives of his pack and every supernatural creature out there, himself included.

“True alpha my ass!” he yelled, startling everyone but Peter around him. He squeezed Peter’s hand, nodding towards Lydia, before stomping over to where Scott stood. Lahey and Reyes immediately stepped up close to their alpha, the twins coming closer as well but they were watching Stiles warily. They had seen him ending Deucalion’s life after all. Deaton kept his calm, although Stiles did notice him slipping his hand into his coat’s pocket. He’d have to be careful not to get poison thrown in his face.

Stiles hadn’t moved alone either. Cora, Derek and Jackson had stepped up with him, shielding him and their more vulnerable packmates behind them. They had stayed mostly quiet during the exchange without ever losing their alertness. Stiles appreciated it.

This was alpha to alpha business and, even more so, Stiles versus Scott situation. Something would break today to irreparable pieces – if they hadn’t already. With Scott blaming Stiles for pretty much everything that had happened to him, to them, since-

Well.

Stiles could give him one more for the road.

“Your _emissary_ has been lying to you since day one,” Stiles spat out. Scott’s eyes flashed dangerously but Stiles went on without giving a shit. “The land does not think you are the best thing since sliced cheese. That would be you and _only_ you. And perhaps Reyes there.” He gave the most condescending look he could at her and he could _see_ how Reyes bristled. The only thing holding her from jumping at him was Lahey’s hand on her shoulder.

Scott raised his crooked chin. “It’s no use to be jealous-”

Stiles interrupted him before he could continue. “I have no reason to be jealous and you know it.” Scott gritted his teeth.

“You revived Peter Hale!” he threw out the old argument again. Stiles raised his shoulders.

“And?”

“And? _And_? Did you forget what he did to m- us?!”

Stiles didn’t miss the slip which only confirmed what he knew. He relaxed his stance the way Derek had taught him and Peter had corrected him. His pack followed his example, stumping the newly-bitten werewolves before them.

“He paid for his mistakes.”

“He should have _stayed_ dead!”

“For what, your sake?” Stiles snorted, shaking his head. “The only people who had the right to decide that were Derek and Lydia, and guess who were there to resurrect him?”

Scott turned to Derek, aghast. Derek just shrugged, smirk playing on his lips. Stiles suddenly recalled that Derek hadn’t particularly liked Scott, ever.

“Your bond is unnatural,” Deaton commented mildly. Stiles tilted his head at him.

“Why?” he asked, curious. “Because he’s not a druid? Because he’s more in tune with death than life?”

Deaton looked like he had swallowed something awful. “It goes deeper than anything should,” he just said, not taking Stiles’ bait. Stiles flashed his red-white eyes at him which made Deaton flinch just the tiniest bit.

“We are more connected than druids, that is true,” Stiles said. He shifted the barest bit, fixing his balance. “But that’s the way we like it, the way the land intended. It was necessary and I would do so again if I had the choice.”

“But why?” Scott interrupted, the edge of a whine in his voice. Stiles opened his mouth to answer but-

“Because bitten wolves need a different anchor,” a voice came from the woods, and Allison walked into the clearing with her parents and Stiles’ dad following in her steps. Stiles glanced at Danny who smirked back at him. Scott was instantly distracted.

“Allison,” he breathed reverently. Allison nodded at him but didn’t falter in her steps. She stopped further away from them; close enough to be heard but far enough not to be in between the warring packs. Stiles’ dad, however, continued until he stood by Cora’s side.

“From human to alpha werewolf, he needed his polar opposite. That’s the balance that was sought, wasn’t it?” Allison glanced at Stiles, who nodded in assent. Scott frowned.

“Allison?”

Allison tapped her crossbow, loaded but pointed downwards. She looked like she didn’t want to be there but pushed forward despite the unpleasantness of the situation.

“The Argents have been informed of a druid who has been working outside her boundaries,” she announced. Stiles wondered if this was something Danny and his dad has orchestrated or something else. A quick look at Danny, however, dispelled his confusion. Danny was looking just as baffled as he felt.

“Alan Deaton, where is your sister?” she asked. Deaton twitched but shrugged lightly.

“Marin left when her alpha was killed, their contract was broken. Deucalion’s murderer is present, however.”

Allison glanced at Stiles. “Good riddance,” she said instead. “And as the Argent matriarch, I thank thee for working in the general service of the public.”

Stiles blinked, and with the nudge that Peter sent him, spoke, “I accept your thanks, Matriarch Argent.” Allison nodded, and then turned her eyes on Deaton again.

“We have also been informed of a druid who has upset the balance.”

Deaton’s eyes widened finally in alarm and, with a wave of his hand, the chaos in the clearing was ready. Mountain ash and mistletoe in the air, werewolves were howling in pain and in some cases momentarily blind. Stiles was hit with the mixture as well and he felt himself being thrown down. Instincts taking over, he threw the offending werewolf off and sprinted after them. Him. Scott. He opened his eyes, seeing almost nothing through his tears and breathing in mistletoe through his mouth, and rushed at Scott despite the burn in his body.

“You are attacking my emissary!” Scott yelled, jumping to meet Stiles in the middle. Stiles evaded his swipe with a move he had seen Cora use several times, ducking under Scott’s arm, and then kicked him in the stomach. Scott let out a groan but didn’t fall down.

“You are attacking _us_ ,” he said instead. He felt Peter asking for his attention, and knew their plan was about to unfurl. Trying to sense Peter’s general location, he opened their bond again and pounced, taking Scott down with him and rolling towards Peter’s direction. It was a surprise that none of the scuffle managed to interrupt their roll filled with kicks and slashes. With the way he heard Derek growl and Lahey yelp, he could guess why that was, however.

Stiles finally managed to kick Scott off and, when he scrambled to get up, he saw Scott flying towards him and hit an invisible wall. Peter smirked gleefully behind Scott.

“Lydia, now!” Peter yelled, and then Lydia screamed. Stiles was disoriented by the piercing noise but so was Scott – as a matter of fact, Scott was screaming himself. He kept clawing at himself like he was covered with thousands of little ants and when his eyes flew open, the red was fading. Peter kept chanting and chanting and Stiles felt the earth stir.

He closed his eyes and _reached_ and the ground beneath his feet answered. Peter’s chant suddenly gained a powerful edge as he was filled with everything Stiles had to offer.

And when Stiles opened his eyes, the fighting had ceased and Scott was watching him in horror with his sickly golden eyes. There was a ball of light floating between them that pulsed with what faintly felt like Ennis and someone else, probably Kali. When Scott tried to reach for it, call it towards him, the ball broke into millions of pieces and littered the ground with snow made of pure light. The bond Deaton had created between Scott and the power that didn’t belong to him severed.

The burst of air that flew up tasted like gratitude – and success. It was death that would create new life.

When Stiles met Scott’s eyes, the gaze directed at him was filled with pure hate, telling him wordlessly how Stiles had once again destroyed his life. Stiles found he didn’t care, just groped around long enough to find Peter. The power they shared was intoxicating and Stiles moaned before surging forward to kiss Peter, breathless and full of wonder. The land rejoiced as the last great offender had been vanquished, at peace at long last. The tinkling laughs and victorious howls of his pack filled the air. When Stiles and Peter separated, still merely inches away, Stiles found his destiny in his other half’s eyes.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles said, echoing the words that had sealed their fate, and Stiles knew in the depths of his soul that it was the best decision he could have ever made.

And together, standing side by side, they watched as the night fell, celebrating the death of yesterday and waiting for the dawn of a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, people! It's a little early but what can you do?
> 
> If you have the time to spare, I'd love to know your thoughts!


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